January Thaw
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Whoever said that wintertime was supposed to be peaceful and quiet? Frank's finding Christmas vacation from college anything but!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

 **January Thaw**

EvergreenDreamweaver and SparksJSH

Chapter 1

It was early January. The northeastern United States was in the grip of a clear, cold snap; although the sun was shining brightly, the daytime temperature hovered just above ten degrees, and at night was falling to well below zero. Snow thickly blanketed the ground, and any standing water had become solid ice. The ponds and smaller streams near Bayport were frozen to a thickness of four or five inches, and ice edged Barmet Bay.

Inside the large gray stone house on Elm Street, it was warm and quiet and bright; the winter sun streamed through the windows. Nineteen-year-old Frank Hardy lay stretched on the family room couch, his 6'1" frame encompassing its full length. His head rested comfortably upon a pillow in Megan Wright's lap, and his brown eyes were closed. Occasionally however, he opened them to glance up at his girlfriend's face, and he smiled in deep satisfaction.

"This…" he murmured now, "is nice."

"Mmm-hmm." She smoothed a strand of dark hair back from his forehead. "Enjoy it while it lasts…we start school again soon."

Frank scowled without opening his eyes. "Did you have to bring that up? I was trying to forget it."

"I thought you needed reminding. It's back to criminal justice studies and Shakespeare again," she teased gently. "Although why you decided to go for another term of Shakespeare is beyond me, after the "C" you got last term."

Frank opened his eyes and stared up at the piquant face above him. "It's because I got a "C" in it that I'm taking another term," he growled. "I'm going to get at least a "B" this time or die trying."

"I feel like it's my fault your grades weren't what you wanted." Megan smoothed his hair again, but gazed at the wall instead of looking down at Frank. "If I hadn't asked you to investigate my father's death—"

"If you hadn't asked me to investigate your father's death, I wouldn't have met you," Frank interrupted her. He raised a lazy hand, grasped a tendril of red-gold hair and tugged gently until Megan bent her head and met his gaze. "…and meeting you was more important than any grades." He tugged again, pulling her nearer. "Much…more…important…" he repeated, punctuating his words with kisses, each one lasting longer than the one before.

When Megan finally raised her head again, her cheeks were flushed pink, and there was a dreamy look in her blue-green eyes. Still, she attempted to resume her argument. "But if you hadn't gotten hurt, you wouldn't have missed school—"

"I only missed a couple of days!" Frank protested. "And I wasn't hurt, exactly – it was just that smoke inhalation thing – that, and some bruises. Besides, that was clear back in September." He snuggled deeper into the pillow, making himself more comfortable. "So stop trying to blame yourself for my bad grade in Shakespeare. If it'll make you feel better, you can help me with all my assignments this term – how's that?"

Megan's laughter bubbled up, and Frank was again enchanted, as he always was by the soft, rippling sound. "It's a deal," she declared. "But I expect a return favor – I want tutoring in chemistry."

The sound of a slammed door and rapidly-approaching footsteps interrupted the conversation. "Joe's home," Frank sighed.

"Hey, guys!" Joe Hardy announced his presence from the doorway. A senior at Bayport High School, Joe was six feet tall, with thick blonde hair and blue eyes; he was the opposite of his older brother in coloration, but their features were enough alike that their relationship was evident to all

For the past several years the brothers had worked as an investigative team, solving cases and various mysteries, not only in Bayport, but in surprisingly far-flung corners of the world. Sandwiching in detective work while attending school was sometimes a problem, but somehow the boys had managed so far.

Now Joe bounced on the balls of his feet, blue eyes twinkling as he surveyed Frank and Megan.

"The weather is awesome out there!" he exclaimed. "Biff and Karen and Vanessa and I are going to go ice skating on that little pond near Vanessa's house. And we want you to come with us."

"I like it right here, just fine," Frank replied lazily. He settled himself into his pillow again. "It's nice and warm and comfy…no cold wind, no hard ice, no wet socks—"

"Oh come on," Joe coaxed, "this sunshine isn't going to last forever – and you haven't done anything except lie around on the couch all day!" At that remark, Megan narrowed her eyes and frowned at Joe, who grinned cheerfully in return. "Just for a while," he added. "A couple of hours, that's all…."

"In case you might not have noticed—" Megan reminded him gently, "I don't happen to be dressed for skating…and I don't usually carry my skates in my pockets."

"Well heck, you lug that backpack everywhere." Joe indicated the deep purple pack leaning against the wall. "It's big enough…for all I know, you could have skates in there – or a sled – or one of those little scooters – or a motorcycle – Ouch!" He broke off his teasing with a yelp, as Megan's hand swung sharply and connected with a _smack_ against his hip. "Why, you— !" He made a dive toward her, but Frank fended him off with an upraised arm.

Joe backed up a step or two, but his blue eyes glinted mischievously, and he made beckoning gestures with both hands. "Come on, little girl, bring it on!" he teased. "let's see what you can do if you quit hiding behind that big lazy guy…."

Frank aimed a half-hearted kick in Joe's direction; unfortunately, he did it at the same moment Megan lunged toward Joe, dumping Frank off her lap. Overbalanced, the elder Hardy flipped over and rolled off the couch, to land sprawling on the floor between his brother and his girlfriend. Megan shrieked, Joe whooped with laughter, and Frank cast disgusted looks at them both before admitting defeat and joining in.

"I give up," he said, when he caught his breath. "Megan, do you want to make a dash home for your skates?"

She dimpled. "They're in the car," she admitted, still laughing. "But I really don't have skating clothes with me."

"I'll bet Mom has something you could borrow," Joe suggested. He reached a hand down to pull Frank to his feet. "Come on, huh?" he urged them again. "You two never have time to play, anymore!"

"That's not true," Frank denied. "We spent the whole of Christmas vacation playing."

"But school will be starting again." Joe said. "And then you'll be studying all the time."

Megan and Frank exchanged rueful glances. It was all too true.

"Okay, okay." Frank let himself be coaxed. "For a couple of hours. That's all." He started towards the stairs. "Megan, I'll ask Mom if she has something warm, that would fit you, and then I'll change."

"A couple of hours skating," Joe amended. "Not counting prep or travel time. Megan, want me to put your skates in the van?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Joe. My car is unlocked; they're in a bag on the floor in the back. Frank, if your mom has snow pants, that would be great; those over my slacks will work. Oh – and maybe some heavier socks?"

"Right on." Frank disappeared up the stairs, and Joe grabbed his coat and exited the house. Megan was left alone, feeling as if she'd suddenly turned into Dorothy and had been picked up and flung down by a tornado. Hanging around with the Hardys was seldom dull!

She was standing beside the large windows, staring out at the white expanse of lawn, when a sound behind her made her turn. Expecting Frank, she jumped at the sight of another tall, dark-haired figure: Fenton Hardy, the boys' father.

"Oh – Mr. Hardy! You surprised me!" Instinctively, Megan backed up a step.

"I'm sorry, Megan, I didn't intend to startle you. I heard the boys heading in about six different directions, and I wondered what was going on." Fenton's dark eyes glinted with humor – but Megan didn't notice.

"They – we – we're going to go skating," she said hesitantly. "For a little while." She felt her color rising, and looked down at the floor, hoping to hide her blushes.

As much as Megan liked and got along with Laura Hardy; as fond as she was of Joe; as much as she dearly loved Frank…it made no difference in her feelings toward Fenton. She was in awe of the famous investigator; she turned shy and silent whenever she encountered him; in fact, she was nearly frightened out of her wits by him. Nothing Frank said made any difference; Megan simply froze up whenever Frank's father appeared on the scene.

For his part, Fenton was himself a bit uncomfortable with the little redhead who had so suddenly become an inseparable part of his older son's life. He was accustomed to the long-standing relationship Frank had held with Callie Shaw, and their breakup the previous autumn had surprised him. He looked upon Megan as he might have looked at a new kitten Frank had brought home: something pretty to play with, but surely nothing serious. To be fair, Fenton had no idea he frightened Megan, but he sensed her discomfort and unconsciously reacted to it.

"Skating, hmm? Well, that sounds like fun," Fenton remarked now, more stiffly than was his wont. He turned as Frank came catapulting down the stairs, obviously relieved at the interruption.

"Here, Megan, Mom said to use this sweater, too." Frank thrust a bundle of clothing at her. She took it with hasty thanks, and headed for the downstairs powder room to change.

"Hi, Dad." Frank perched on the arm of the couch. "How're the security arrangements going for that conference?"

"Fairly smoothly," his father answered. His reserve disappearing now that Megan was no longer in the room, Fenton sat down too. "Of course, there are several contingency plans; and the final arrangements are top-secret." He smiled at his older son. "Even from you. Setting up security for heads-of-state conferences is a major headache," he admitted. "Even if it's just our own president, the Secret Service requirements are stringent. Add in the chancellor of Germany, England's prime minister, and all the others – and their security people and their requirements…." He shook his head ruefully. "There have been times lately when I wished I'd politely declined the job."

"Well, it won't be for too much longer," Frank reminded him. "When do people start arriving? A week from today?"

"Unless plans change," Fenton answered, the rueful look still evident on his face. "Something tells me not to plan on getting much sleep for the next few days."

The arrival of both Joe and Megan put an end to their conversation. Frank went back upstairs to change, and the three teens soon departed, piling into the boys' van for the drive to Vanessa's house, which was located several miles outside the city limits.

"Dad's got a lot of worries about that bigwig conference," Joe remarked as he carefully piloted the vehicle along the road. "I'm just as glad he's not allowed to let us help, though…arranging security for heads of state is downright scary."

"It would be exciting to actually see all those famous people, though," Megan commented from the back seat. She gazed out the window at the snowy landscape. "I'm glad it's been so dry the last day or so; the roads aren't slick any more."

"Uh-huh," Joe grunted. He slowed, and turned off the highway onto a smaller road. "I see Biff's and Vanessa's cars; we're the last ones here," he grumbled, glancing over at Frank, "Because some people took so much time getting ready to come."

Frank eyed him coolly. "You could have gone without us," he reminded Joe. "This was your idea, remember?" Noting Joe's chagrined expression, he let a smile creep onto his face. "I'm kidding, little brother."

Megan reached to pat Joe's shoulder comfortingly. "Joe, I'm glad to come skating with you," she reassured him. "And if Frank is going to be a party-pooper, he can just sit in the car by himself." At that, Frank whipped his head around, startled, and she dissolved into giggles at the dismayed look on his face. As always, Megan's giggles were contagious, and all three of them were laughing when Joe parked the van next to Biff's somewhat dilapidated black-and-gray Blazer. They got out and walked to the edge of the pond.

"Consider yourself challenged to a race," Frank grunted as he tugged on his skates. "You and me, little brother, right here, right now."

Joe snorted derisively. "It won't even be a contest, big brother. You're way out of shape." Frank eyed him speculatively, but made no further comment.

In a few minutes, all six of them were rapidly gliding about the frozen pond, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs; occasionally three or four would link hands for a time. Since they were on a pond, rather than a rink, there were some rough spots on the surface, but these were easily avoided. Frank and Joe staged their race – and although Joe managed to win, Frank was so close on his heels that Joe didn't dare boast about his victory. The time seemed to fly; Frank's allotted two hours stretched to nearly three. The winter sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon when Biff gathered them all into a huddle.

"Let's do crack-the-whip a few times before we stop," he suggested. "I'll be anchor for everyone – except when it's my turn to be on the end." Frank grinned. He liked crack-the-whip.

Megan wrinkled her nose a little in distaste. "Crack-the-whip isn't one of my favorite games," she admitted. "I always spin so far…"

"That's because you're so little," Frank teased her. He pulled her close and kissed the tip of her nose. "Come on, we won't spin you hard. It'll be fun. Megan gets to go first," he announced to the group, adding quietly to his girlfriend, "that way you get done with it."

Reluctantly, she took her place at the end of the line. Biff was at the other end, holding his girlfriend Karen's hand; she gripped Joe's hand tightly as he stood between her and Vanessa. Next came Frank, and finally, Megan. They began skating again, increasing their speed as they went around in a circular pattern. When he felt they were going rapidly enough, Biff dug in his skates, jerked to a stop, and yanked hard on Karen's hand. The line of skaters swung round, with Megan at the end. Frank let go of her hand, she spun off, shrieking with excitement, and was nearly to the end of the little pond before she slowed down.

The teens repeated the procedure again and again; Karen, then Joe, then Vanessa, and Biff. Finally it was Frank's turn. He took his place in line, holding Vanessa's hand. She grinned cheerfully at him, her blue-gray eyes sparkling beneath the blue hat she wore.

"How far do you want to go?" she teased.

"As far as you can send me," he responded. "Farther than that wimpy ride you gave Joe," he added to Biff, who nodded.

"You got it," he rumbled. "All the way to the end of the pond, guys, okay?

This time, Biff let more speed build up before he dug in his skates. The yank he gave Joe's arm was harder than any before, and the momentum carried down the line, through Megan and Karen, to Vanessa. She waited until the last possible moment before releasing Frank's hand, and when she did so, she gave an extra snap to her wrist, starting him whirling almost immediately. He spun towards the far end of the pond, fighting for his balance on the slippery surface.

Exhilaration at the experience flowed through Frank's body; adrenaline pumping high. He glimpsed the shoreline seeming to approach him, rather than the other way around, and waited for his momentum to slow. Just as the revolving began to ease off, however, Frank felt one of his skates catch on a rough patch of ice. Going the speed he was, there was no way he could maintain control of his feet. Frank stumbled, arms windmilling wildly as he tried uselessly to regain his balance. He saw a snowbank looming in front of him, and had time for one wild thought, _I hope that snow's soft!_ before he fell heavily onto the ice. He skidded forward, and felt the impact as he hit the crusted snow at the edge of the pond. There was an instant of sharp pain as his head bounced on the ice, swirling sparks filled his vision…and then there was nothing but soft blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver & SparksJSH

Chapter 2

The five teenagers stood watching in horrified shock, as Frank Hardy fell heavily and slammed into the piled snow at the edge of the ice. Joe reacted first, giving himself a kick-start and skating frantically toward his older brother, but he was followed closely by Biff and Vanessa; with Karen and Megan bringing up the rear.

"Frank!" Joe skidded to a halt near Frank's sprawled form, sending a spray of ice into the air. He dropped to his knees, shifting awkwardly to avoid sitting on his skate blades. "Frank?" he repeated more quietly; he hastily pulled off his glove and pressed his fingers against his brother's throat. Reassured by the steady beat he felt, Joe glanced up, met Biff's anxious gaze, and smiled encouragingly. "Well, he's not dead, anyway!"

"Biff, move! Let me through!" Megan shoved Biff aside and plopped to the ice beside Joe. "Ohhhh, no…."

"Biff, give me a hand," Joe requested. "Let's turn him over – carefully!" he added. Cautiously, the two boys turned Frank onto his back, and Megan gently cradled his head in her lap. Vanessa and Karen hovered behind her, their faces taut with apprehension.

"Frank?" Joe bent over his brother. "You okay? Come on, pal, talk to me."

Frank felt as if he were fighting his way through thick fog. The soft blackness had lightened to gray now; he could hear voices saying something…voices….Joe's voice… _Come on pal, talk to me…._

He blinked his eyes open, staring upward. For a moment his vision was blurred; then he focused on blue-green eyes and freckles standing out against pale skin. _Megan…._ Shifting his gaze slightly, he saw Joe leaning close, and heard him say again, "Frank, you okay?"

"I – guess so." Frank attempted a reassuring smile, but it changed abruptly into a grimace of pain as he tried to sit up. "Ouch! Oooh…." He pressed a hand against his ribs. "It's okay – just bruised, I think," he added hastily, hearing various gasps of alarm from the others. Megan firmly pulled him flat again.

"You hit your head on the ice," Joe reminded him. "Look at me a minute…." He stared into Frank's somewhat dazed eyes, watching the dilation. "Your vision okay?"

"Yeah." Frank gingerly probed beneath his hair, wincing as he encountered a tender spot. "I'm fine – just a couple of bumps." He looked at Biff, who was crouching at his other side. "I guess I asked for it, didn't I?"

"Oh jeez, this is all my fault!" Biff smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand, and his voice was heavy with contrition. "I'm sorry, Frank! I never should've suggested crack-the-whip…."

"Hey, I'm the one who asked for the extra-hard spin, remember?" Frank attempted once more to sit erect; this time he managed it, with some help from Joe. "It's not your fault at all, Biff!"

"I think we'd better call it a day," Megan suggested quietly.

Biff and Joe helped Frank to his feet, steadying him between them as he wobbled on his skates. Vanessa pulled Megan up, and the six teens moved slowly down the pond, heading, by unspoken agreement, towards their cars. They quickly took off their skates and changed into shoes, Frank waving away Joe's proffered assistance with some irritation.

"Joe, I'm fine! Don't hover so; you give me the jitters!" he snapped, trying to ignore the headache beginning to pound through his temples. Joe rolled his eyes, but somewhat surprisingly remained silent.

Megan quickly bid Vanessa, Karen and Biff goodbye, then climbed into the front passenger seat of the van. Frank frowned a little, but got into the middle seat with no comment, fastened his seat belt, and leaned his head back with obvious relief.

Joe gave Vanessa a hasty kiss, murmuring "I'll call you later," then slid behind the steering wheel and started the van's engine. He drove out of the parking area and headed back towards Bayport. After a few silent minutes of travel, he glanced in the rear-view mirror to check on his older brother. "You doing okay, Frank?" he asked.

Frank nodded without opening his eyes. "I'm fine," he replied. "Just kind of a headache, that's all."

Megan twisted in her seat to survey her boyfriend. "When we get to your house," she stated firmly, "I am going to go home, and you are going to lie down and rest."

Joe bit his lip hard to keep from laughing, and kept his gaze glued to the road ahead.

Frank gave her a narrow stare, but Megan raised her chin defiantly, and after a moment, Frank nodded in acquiescence. "Okay, okay," he sighed. "You're probably right." He closed his eyes again, wearily.

"Of course I'm right," she muttered, but so low that only Joe heard her. He glanced at her, turning his head only the slightest amount; catching her eye, he winked. She winked back.

When they reached the Hardy home, Megan refused to stay any longer than it took to change out of Laura's clothes, grab her backpack from the family room, and to make sure Frank had stretched himself on the couch. She kissed him very gently, promised to call him later in the evening, and departed.

Joe, returning from hanging up their jackets, nudged Frank gently to get his attention. "Here." He held out a glass of water and a couple of aspirins. "Take these."

Frank pushed himself to an elbow and swallowed the tablets. "Thanks. Do you know where Mom and Dad are?"

"They went out; Mom left a note. Some sort of holiday thing…you'd think holiday parties would be over with now, wouldn't you?"

Frank set his glass of water on the floor next to the couch and lay back down, putting his arm across his aching eyes. "Yeah, but I guess any excuse for a party."

"Can I get you anything else?" Joe inquired, shoving Frank's feet to one side so he could perch on the end of the sofa. "Ice, or anything?"

"Don't mention ice!" Frank shuddered.

Joe chuckled. "You sure got the ride you wanted with crack-the-whip, big brother! Next time maybe you'll be more careful what you ask for!" He laughed harder.

Frank lifted his arm to gaze at Joe. "You can be replaced, you know," he said coldly. "I'll just ask Dad to get a nice German Shepherd…"

Unfazed, Joe continued chortling. "I know, I've heard the story for 16 years now; you wanted a puppy, but you got ME instead…."

Their banter was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Frank winced and shut his eyes; Joe got to his feet and picked up the cordless phone from the table.

"Hardy residence…oh!…yes, this is Joe….Yes, he's here. Hold on." Blue eyes wide, Joe held out the telephone to Frank. "Frank," he whispered. "It's Mrs. Shaw – Callie's mother!"

Frank sat up, blinking in bewilderment. _Callie's mom?_ he mouthed to Joe, who nodded vigorously. Frank put the telephone to his ear. "Hello?"

Mrs. Shaw sounded tense. _"Frank, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had happened to see Callie today?"_

"Uh – no, I haven't," Frank replied. "Was there some reason you thought I might have?" He shook his head, realizing how stiff he sounded, but still – Callie's mother thought he might know where she was?

" _No, Frank, not really – it's just that she's been gone quite a bit longer than she said she would be, and I was beginning to be concerned."_

 _She_ _does_ _sound worried – wonder what Callie's off doing now?_ Frank thought. Aloud, he said "Well, I haven't heard from her or seen her, Mrs. Shaw. I'm sorry I can't help you. I have no idea where she might be."

" _Thank you anyway, Frank. I just thought I would check, and make sure. I suppose I'll just have to wait until she comes home or calls."_

"Uh – yes, that's probably the best thing to do," Frank said, feeling terribly awkward. He couldn't exactly say _Mrs. Shaw, I haven't the slightest interest in where your daughter is!_ "If I hear anything from her, I'll certainly let you know."

After hanging up the phone, Frank turned to Joe, who had been sitting and listening unabashedly to half the conversation. "She wanted to know if I'd seen Callie."

"Whew!" Joe whistled in astonishment. "Why would she think you'd seen that little bit-" He broke off when he saw Frank scowl. "Okay, okay, I won't go there."

"You really iced Callie with all the gang, last fall, you know." Frank lay back down and covered his eyes once more.

"Good," Joe muttered. "She deserved it."

Frank didn't reply, but smiled a little. _Brother mine, you have your faults at times, but lack of loyalty certainly isn't one of your failings!_

Joe, sensing that his older sibling wanted to rest, got up and quietly left the room. Frank settled himself a little more comfortably on the couch, waiting for the aspirins to kick in and ease his headache. Lying there, he let his mind slide back a few days…back to the day after Christmas….

" _Why, oh why did I decide to come here_ _today_ _? This is absolutely crazy!" Frank said to himself as he shoved his way through the crowded Bayport Mall. Since it was the day after Christmas, half the population of Bayport had decided to either exchange their disliked or wrong-sized Christmas presents, or take advantage of the post-Christmas sales._

 _Frank had known it was going to be crowded, but Joe's Christmas present to him had been a gift certificate to the computer store in the mall, and he wanted to check out all the possibilities as soon as he could. Joe had recoiled in horror when Frank mentioned braving the mall crowds, and firmly declined to accompany him. "Not a chance!" he'd declared, and flopped onto the couch to watch a football game._

 _Looking over the items at the computer store took only a short time, and Frank decided he might as well head for the food court at the far end of the mall before he left, and grab something to drink; pushing through the hordes of determined shoppers made him thirsty. He made his way slowly past the various stores, stepping around mothers pushing strollers and carrying huge shopping bags crammed with their finds._

 _The crowd was only slightly smaller at the food court. Frank managed to get to the counter, ordered a Pepsi, and waited for it to be brought to him. When he received his drink, he stepped back, only to bump into a person directly behind him. Thankful that there was a lid on his cup, Frank turned to apologize to whomever he had jostled._

" _Sorry, didn't mean to; it's so crowded…_ _Callie_ _!" Dumbfounded, Frank found himself gazing down at the blonde hair and brown eyes of his former girlfriend. Callie Shaw stared up at him, her eyes widening in surprise. Frank automatically stepped backwards again, and found himself pressed against the counter._

" _Frank! I – uh – I…" she stammered, and her cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment._

 _Frank gathered his composure. "Please pardon me, I'm sorry if I bumped you. As I said, it's very crowded." He glanced about at the milling crowd. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"_

" _Frank – wait a minute." Callie laid her hand on his arm. "Could – could we talk for a minute?"_

" _I was just leaving, actually," Frank said stiffly, "and I don't know that we have anything we need to talk about, Callie."_

" _Please_ _," she insisted. "Can't we just sit down and talk?"_

 _Frank drew in a long, careful breath and let it out slowly. "Okay," he finally said. "Just for a few minutes."_

 _He waited while Callie ordered and received her drink, and then the two of them made their way to a small table that was just being vacated. They sat down, each eyeing the other cautiously._

" _What did you want to talk about?" Frank asked, sipping his drink. He appeared calm, but inside he was seething with emotions; the strongest one at the moment being curiosity. He wondered just what Callie had been doing with her Christmas vacation…she certainly hadn't spent time with any of their old crowd! He had heard from Vanessa that Callie had called her; however, Vanessa had pleaded being 'terribly busy' and unable to chat more than a minute or two. Tony had mentioned seeing her once with her mother, having lunch at Mr. Pizza before Christmas, but other than that, Frank hadn't seen or heard anything from or about Ms. Shaw._

" _I – uh – just wanted to hear how things were going for you, Frank." Callie took a gulp of her soda, then raised her eyes to meet his. "And I wanted to apologize for the way I – for what I – "_

" _Never mind, Callie," Frank interrupted her. "It's okay. You did what you had to do. You have other interests now; I understand that."_

" _Yes, well…but I…Frank, what did you_ _do_ _to turn everyone in Bayport against me?" Callie's voice sharpened. "I haven't had a civil word from_ _anyone_ _in our old crowd since I got home from Colorado!"_

" _I? I haven't done anything," Frank defended himself. And it's true, he thought. I didn't do anything –_ _Joe_ _did it for me! He hid a smile by hastily taking another sip of his drink._

" _Look, I understand how you must feel, but—" she broke off, playing with her straw for a moment. "but can't we be friends at least? I_ _never_ _said I wanted to not be friends with you anymore…." She glanced up at him hopefully. "We could get some lunch and talk – maybe smooth things out a little…?"_

 _Frank had never been so delighted to turn down an invitation to lunch. "I'm sorry, Callie, but I have other plans for this afternoon," he said quietly. "I'm dating someone else now, and I'm meeting her in a couple of hours."_

" _You're – dating someone else?" Callie's voice was very small._

" _Yes, I mentioned it to you in my last message. It's someone I met at college. Her name is Megan." Frank squared his shoulders and gazed levelly across the table. "I love her very much, Callie…and she loves me."_

" _Oh – well – that's very nice, isn't it? I'm – so happy – for you." Callie managed a brittle smile. "I guess I'd better be going, then, hadn't I?" She rose to her feet. Out of habit, Frank courteously stood, but she motioned him to re-seat himself. "No, no, don't get up." She smiled again; this time it was more genuine. "I wish you all the best, Frank. And I hope that we can be friends again." She leaned across the little table and pressed her lips briefly against Frank's cheek. " I doubt that we'll be seeing each other before I go back to Colorado, so I'll say goodbye now."_

" _Goodbye, Callie. Enjoy your next term." Frank cleared his throat. "Best of luck—"_

" _Thanks. You too." She picked up her drink cup, turned and walked away without a backward glance._

 _Frank stared after her, thoughts whirling. For a moment he was remembering their years as a couple; all the things they had done together and what they had meant to each other. And then he shook his head slightly, as if dispelling a bad dream, for a vision of red-gold hair and turquoise eyes filled his mind. "Oh, Megan," he whispered to himself, "I am_ _so_ _glad I found you!"_

Frank sighed, and found himself yawning. The aspirin had done its work; his headache was starting to ease up, and the only thing he wanted was to sleep for a little while. A _nd then have dinner_ , he thought, drowsily aware that his stomach felt somewhat empty.

The telephone's ringing startled him in the middle of another yawn. Frank reached for the phone and pressed the button to connect.

"Hardy residence."

" _I want to talk to Frank Hardy,"_ an unfamiliar voice said. It was a grating, irritating voice, speaking in a harsh whisper.

Frank tensed instinctively. "This is he."

" _Hey there, Frankie-boy,"_ the sinister voice continued. _"You have a very pretty girlfriend, do you know that? We're getting to know her_ _real_ _well. You know what, Frankie-boy? You're going do exactly what I tell you – or little Miss Girlfriend's going to die!"_ A rasping chuckle sounded in his ear. _"I'll be calling you back in a little while, and I'll give you a chance to talk to her for a minute…just to prove we mean business. In the meantime, you don't tell_ _anyone_ _about this, understand?_ "

For a moment, Frank was too stunned to reply.

" _Understand_ _?"_ the voice snarled, again.

"Yes – yes, I understand!"

" _That's better. I'll be talking to you again, real soon."_ There was a _click_ as the phone was hung up on the other end.

Frank lay motionless on the couch, clutching the telephone so tightly his knuckles were white. _Megan! Someone's kidnapped Megan again! Oh God,_ _Megan_ _!_ _  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

Thank you to those persons who have left feedback on prior chapters; it is much appreciated.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Sparks JSH

Chapter 3

Frank's tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by Joe's footsteps thumping down the stairs. Joe entered the family room in a rush.

"Was that Vanessa on the phone?" he demanded.

"N-no," Frank's voice cracked slightly; he cleared this throat. "No, it was – it was a wrong number."

"Oh." Joe shrugged, losing interest. "Guess I'll call Van, then; we had talked some about catching a movie tonight." He removed the phone from Frank's hand and commenced punching buttons. "You think you'd feel up to going, you and Megan?" he asked, waiting for the call to go through. Before Frank could reply, Joe was turning away from him, attention distracted. "Oh, hiya Vanessa, it's me. You still want to go to the movies tonight?" Partway through his conversation, Joe tilted an inquiring brow in Frank's direction and mouthed _Want to go?_ Frank shook his head slightly; Joe nodded his understanding, and finalized his plans with Vanessa.

Finishing his call, Joe set the phone down next to Frank again. "She's going to pick me up; I'll leave the van for you, in case you decide to go out after all." He glanced at Frank, surprised by his brother's continued silence; then took a second look, narrowing his eyes in concern. "Frank, are you feeling all right?" He sat down on the edge of the couch next to Frank. "Is your headache worse? You're white as a sheet!"

"No – yes – I mean, no, my headache isn't worse; yes, I feel all right," Frank replied. "I – uh – that first phone call woke me up, I guess – startled me."

"You're sure?" Joe continued to gaze at him; a worried frown creasing his forehead.

Frank summoned a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, little brother. Go on, get ready for your date. I'm going to try to sleep a little more."

Joe got up. "Well, if you're positive you're okay, I will. I'm going to take a quick shower; Van's supposed to be here in about half an hour." He departed upstairs once again, but cast a dubious glance or two in Frank's direction as he did so.

Alone, Frank lay back on the pillows, but he was anything but relaxed. _How could someone have kidnapped Megan – and_ _why_ _? And what am I going to do about it? I can't tell Joe; whoever that was said they'll kill her! He suspected something was wrong…how can I keep him from finding out?_ Frustrated, Frank clenched his fists and groaned.

Joe bounced down the stairs a little while later, dressed in khakis and a heavy sweater; his blonde hair still damp from his shower. Frank swallowed hard and made a great effort to sound normal when he spoke. "Your hair's going to freeze solid if you go outside with it still wet."

"I'm hoping it will dry before Vanessa gets here," Joe grinned, but at that moment a car horn beeped outside. "Uh-oh, looks like it's icicles after all!" He leaned over and patted Frank's shoulder. "You take it easy, okay? You still look sort of pale. And I've got my cell phone with me; call if you need me."

"Okay." Frank gave his brother what he hoped was an innocent smile. "Have fun."

Joe departed, grabbing his jacket from the hall closet as he left. Frank shut his eyes, trying to think clearly but having difficulty doing it. _What am I going to tell her mother…this is_ _worse_ _than last September; at least then I knew_ _why_ _she'd been taken!_

When the telephone rang, Frank jumped violently and stared at it as if it had been a cobra about to strike. He picked it up and punched the button to connect. "Hel-hello?"

" _Frank_?"

"Wha – Megan?" The name exploded from Frank in a near-shout. "Megan, is that you? Are you all right?"

" _Of course I'm all right – why wouldn't I be all right? I told you I'd call and see how you were feeling…."_

"Megan, where are you?" Frank demanded.

" _Where am – Frank, what kind of game are you playing? I'm at home of course!"_ Her voice changed from slightly annoyed to worried. _"Where's Joe, or your parents? You don't sound right….are you delirious, or something?"_

"No, I'm not delirious, I – uh, I – I'm sorry, honey; I guess I – I was asleep for a little while; I must have been dreaming. I thought something had happened to you…."

" _Oh_." Megan's voice softened _. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you; you just sounded so_ _strange_ _!"_

"Baby, I need to see you. Can I come over for a while?" Frank was on his feet now, already moving towards the closet where his jacket hung.

" _Well – of course you can come over, but are you sure you should be driving around after what happened this afternoon?"_ Megan sounded uncertain. _"Would you rather I came over there?"_

"No!" Frank bit his lip and moderated his tone. "No, I want you to stay right where you are. I'll be over in just a little bit, okay? Don't leave the house, Megan, promise me you won't. I'm fine to drive; the headache's gone. Just – just stay put. And make sure the doors are locked, okay?"

" _All right, I will…but Frank, you sound so upset…."_

"It's okay; I'm okay. I'll be there real soon. I'm leaving right now. I love you; goodbye." Frank disconnected, shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his car keys from their customary spot. He was out the back door in the next instant, leaping into the van, and starting the motor.

As he backed down the driveway, the telephone began to ring inside the empty house.

##########

In a small house in another residential section of Bayport, Callie Shaw opened her eyes and blinked up at the ceiling. She was very dizzy, and her head ached ferociously. She made a single attempt to lift her head, but immediately laid it back down; seeing her surroundings wasn't worth the pain. She cautiously looked about her, trying to figure out where she was without moving again. _It's – a bedroom,_ she thought. _I'm in a bedroom somewhere…lying on a bed…how did I get here? I was walking from the parking lot towards the dry cleaner's…and I heard someone behind me…._

"Well, it's about time you woke up!" a nearby voice said. "I thought that chloroform would never wear off!"

Callie turned her aching head minutely and stared at the figure beside her. It appeared to be a man, but whoever it was had a lightweight ski mask pulled over his head; only his eyes were visible. The eyes were gray in color – a cold, menacing gray.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "Where is this? And why am I here?"

"You don't need to know who I am," the man replied. "As for why you're here – you're here so that someone very near and dear to you will do exactly what I want. You're my insurance, pretty one."

"Someone…" Callie squeezed her eyes shut, wishing her head would stop pounding, even if just for a few moments. "Someone dear…." Fear coursed through her. "My parents?"

The man laughed harshly. "Naw, sweetheart, I don't want anything to do with your parents! It's your boyfriend I've got business with!"

"My – boyfriend? Jonathan?"

The laughter stopped abruptly. "Jonathan! Who's Jonathan?" The man leaped to his feet and loomed above her menacingly.

"He's – he's my boyfriend…." Callie shrank back. "He lives in Colorado….Why would you want him to do anything…?"

"I'm not talking about somebody named Jonathan!" raged her captor. "I'm talking about Frank Hardy, you stupid little brat!"

"Frank!" Callie gasped. "But Frank's not my—" She clapped a hand to her mouth, but it was too late to take back her words.

"What did you say?"

"N- nothing – I didn't say anything," she stammered, terrified.

"Tell me!" The man grabbed her shoulders and shook her, roughly. With her headache and dizziness, the effect was horrendous; Callie screamed in pain, and nearly passed out. Seeing what was happening, her jailer pushed her back down, but kept his grip on her shoulders. "Okay, little girl, tell me: what about you and Frank Hardy?"

Callie swallowed hard, fighting nausea. She took one deep breath, then another, and was finally able to speak again. "Frank – and I – aren't going together anymore," she whispered. "We – we broke up – when we – when I – went away to school…last fall."

"What?" It was nearly a scream. "You were with him at the mall just the other day; I saw you! You met there, and you kissed him when you left! Don't try to tell me you're not his girlfriend! We know he's been with you for years!"

Anger was giving Callie new strength. _What is_ _with_ _these people? I thought I'd gotten away from all this stuff once Frank and I were through!_ "Well, we're not now!" she snapped. "That was just a chance meeting! He has someone else now!" As the words left her lips, she knew she'd made a terrible mistake.

"Who?" All the anger was gone from her captor's voice; it was ice-cold, silky-smooth, and deadly frightening.

"I don't know!" she gasped. "I don't know her!"

"Look, beautiful, I need Frank Hardy's current girlfriend. You're no good to me, if you're not her." The man reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small pistol. "You're not much good to me at all – unless you know who she is, of course." He held out the gun toward Callie and deliberately took the safety off. "You were saying…who is Frank Hardy seeing now…?"

Callie squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to think. She didn't want to do this – but the man, whoever he was, was steadily moving the gun closer to her head. _Frank said her name,_ she thought wildly. _Her name – what was her name?_ "It's – it's Megan!" she whimpered, as she felt the gun muzzle touch her temple. "I don't  know what her last name is! But her first name is Megan!"

Slowly, the gun was withdrawn. Callie opened her eyes and risked a glance in her captor's direction. He had re-seated himself on the chair and was staring at her, apparently weighing the truth of her words.

"Megan, huh?" he muttered. "Well, that's better than nothing, I guess." He put the safety back on, and slid the gun into his pocket, then reached for the telephone on a nearby table. "Hey, it's me," he grunted into the receiver. "Put a tail back on Hardy – he's got another girl, apparently! Find her and grab her. You have 24 hours, maximum."

Hanging up the receiver, the icy-eyed man stared at Callie again. "It'll have to do, I guess. You've managed to save yourself for now." He rose to his feet, walked over to a cabinet against the wall, and returned carrying a pair of handcuffs. Grasping Callie's wrist, he snapped one cuff on her arm, and fastened the other end of the shackles to the headboard of the bed. "Someone will check on you after a while – bathroom privileges and all that. But I'm not taking any chances on you getting away."

Callie watched him go out of the door, stark terror in her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

Thank you to those persons leaving comments and feedback; it is much appreciated.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 4

Frank awoke on Sunday morning with another headache. This time it wasn't caused by the now-diminished lump on the side of his head, it was the result of next to no sleep the preceding night. He had had little luck in falling asleep; when at last exhaustion overcame him, he was troubled by nightmares, all of them involving Megan falling into the hands of shadowy captors – while he watched helplessly.

 _She's all right,_ he reassured himself. _You saw her last night. Remember?_

He recalled driving to Megan's house, scarcely able to concentrate on the streets because of the frightened pounding of his heart. _It's a good thing I've been there so often; I didn't have to think about it!_ he admitted now. He had pulled up in front of her house, leaped from the van and hurried to the front door, where he rang the doorbell several times. In his agitation, he didn't notice the small, dark-colored car that slowed as it passed the house…and then parked down the block.

Megan had finally answered the door, looking both worried and annoyed. "Frank, stop it! I heard the doorbell just fine; you didn't need to keep ringing it!"

He stepped into the front hall, shut the door behind him and shot the dead bolt. Then he turned toward Megan and caught her in his arms, holding her so tightly she squealed in protest, her words muffled against his coat. "Frank! What is wrong with you?"

He had hastily apologized and slackened his hold, but kept his arms about her. "I was afraid something might have happened to you. Panic attack, I guess!" He smiled down at her, somewhat wanly. _Play it cool, Hardy; don't scare her!_ "I know your mom's not home, and I worry about you being here by yourself."

Megan had wriggled out of his embrace and eyed him skeptically. "You knew I was going to be home by myself when I left your house; you weren't worried about me then. Why now?"

"Uh – I told you – I had a really bad dream earlier, and it panicked me. I'm sorry…dumb, huh?"

Finally, her dimple flashed as she smiled at him. "Dumb – but very sweet. You're forgiven. Come on in." She led the way to the family room.

The evening had been fine after that, and he had gone home around eleven, finding the house dark and silent. Apparently his parents had arrived home and gone to bed, and Joe wasn't back yet from his date with Vanessa. No ominous telephone calls awoke the Hardys during the night.

Thinking back, Frank smiled a little in relief. _It must have been a prank – just a sick joke._

At breakfast, Laura announced that today was going to be the day for taking down Christmas decorations, and made the firm suggestion that _everyone_ be available to help with this task. Fenton gave his wife a harried look.

"Honey, I'm really swamped with this conference-security-arrangement thing. I'm going to be spending most of the day on the telephone, I'm afraid. Joe and Frank, you can help your mother, can't you?"

Joe rolled his eyes and sighed, but nodded. "Sure, I can help – for a while, anyway. I've made plans to play basketball this afternoon, though."

Laura made an irritated noise in the back of her throat, and her younger son grinned apologetically at her. "Sorry, Mom; I'll help all this morning; I promise."

She turned to Frank. "And what excuse do you have?" she demanded.

Frank held up his hands defensively. "Not a thing, Mom! In fact, I'll have Megan come over and help too, how's that?"

Laura laughed. "I'm sure Megan is going to love hearing you've volunteered her to help un-decorate a Christmas tree – but I'd be very happy to have her come over."

Frank made his call, then left to pick Megan up; meanwhile Joe and Laura began dismantling the decorations. Fenton, still looking harried, disappeared into his study and closed the door.

##########

Taking down the Christmas decorations was never as much fun as putting them up, but this year the task went smoothly. Partway through, the telephone rang; Joe searched fruitlessly for the cordless phone amidst the snowdrifts of tissue paper used to wrap the ornaments, then hurried into the kitchen to answer it from there. The others heard his voice murmuring, then a delighted whoop echoed through the rooms.

In a few moments, Joe returned to the family room, practically dancing a jig with glee. "No school!" he caroled. "That was Biff on the phone! School's canceled!"

"For heaven's sake, why?" his mother demanded, sounding a bit weary. Laura was ready for an end to Christmas vacation.

"The furnace is broken!" Joe shouted. "They don't think it can be fixed for several days!" He spun around, still dancing his impromptu jig. "We don't have to go back until next Monday!"

"Joe! Look out for the ornaments!" Megan cried, snatching up a box from the floor just in time to save it from being stepped upon by a size-eleven athletic shoe. Mrs. Hardy shot her younger son a disapproving glare; Frank snorted with laughter, and Joe, somewhat abashed, stopped twirling and plopped onto the couch, blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Frank cleared his throat. "You realize that all these days off will have to be made up at the end of the year, don't you?" he inquired calmly, then burst into laughter at Joe's chagrined expression. Laura and Megan began to laugh too.

"You had to say it, didn't you?" Joe snapped, and settled into the couch cushions, arms folded and lower lip protruding in a definite sulk.

##########

A couple of hours later, a somewhat more cheerful Joe departed to his basketball game. Laura was in the basement, shoving boxes into storage closets; Fenton – who had appeared briefly at lunch time, greeted Megan and his family abstractedly and then apparently forgot them – was once again shut in his study, surrounded by sheets of paper on which he constantly scribbled and crossed out notes. Frank and Megan were picking up the last bits of litter from the family room floor where the Christmas tree had stood.

"I need to go home pretty soon, Frank," Megan said, glancing out the window at the afternoon sunlight. "I'd rather not get home to an empty house after dark. I guess you spooked me with your nightmare!"

"Okay, that's probably a good idea," Frank agreed. "I'll tell Mom we're leaving." When he returned upstairs, Megan had put on her coat, and was waiting in the front hall. He got his own coat from the closet, and they went outside. Frank had expected that the van would be missing, but Joe had taken Laura's car to his game, leaving the van for Frank to use. _He's been awfully thoughtful lately!_ Frank thought to himself. _Way_ _too_ _thoughtful…wonder what favor he's going to ask, in return!_

Despite having dismissed the ominous telephone call of the night before as simply a prank, Frank remained uneasy. He was silent for long periods of time during the drive to Megan's home, and although at first Megan attempted to fill the void with conversation, finally she too became quiet.

Frank pulled the van next to the curb in front of the Wright home and turned off the motor. He was about to lean over and slide his arm about Megan when she startled him by turning towards him and snapping out an abrupt question.

"Frank, when are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Look, you've been acting funny ever since last night. That story about bad dreams was so thin I could poke holes in it with my finger. So why don't you just tell me what's going on?

"Megan, I—"

"Is it something I've done? Something I haven't done? Some new case you're on? At least give me a hint, Frank!"

"Oh, jeez!" Frank unsnapped his seat belt and scooted to the edge of the driver's seat, where he could conveniently hold on to his girlfriend. "No, of course it isn't anything you've done!" His mind was racing frantically. Should he tell her what had happened, about the mysterious phone call? This called for fast improvisation. "And it's not about a case, either. It's – it's just – oh, jeez, Megan!"

She waited, blue-green eyes fixed on his. "Frank, darling, please tell me," she said gently, at last, when it seemed he wasn't going to continue.

"It's just – when I start thinking about – about what happened last September…" Frank went on with a miserable gulp, "I keep thinking about how close I was to losing you. I really do panic, Megan! I want to be sure you're safe, always! And I'm afraid something will happen to jeopardize that."

"Oh dear," she murmured, and closed her eyes briefly. "Frank, nothing is going to happen to me. There would be no reason for anything to happen – and you're almost always with me anyway!" she added with a laugh. "I'm safe with you, surely!"

He pulled her into a tight hug. "I won't let anything happen to you, Megan!" he vowed. "I'll never let anyone hurt you…I swear it." He kissed her hard, again holding her so tightly that she squirmed, giggling against his lips.

"Does that include you?" she teased, when he released her, rubbing her sore ribs.

Frank was about to reply when flashing lights behind the van caught his attention. A police car pulled to a stop directly behind him and a uniformed patrolman stepped from the car. His hat was pulled low, and he was wearing reflective sunglasses.

Frank slid back into his own seat and opened his side window. "What is it, officer?"

"I noticed you a few blocks back," the officer said, "And I followed you here. Did you realize that you have a taillight out?"

Frank frowned in perplexity. "A taillight? No, I hadn't realized that. In fact, I'm surprised to hear it. Which one is out?" He opened the van door and got out of the vehicle.

Before the startled Hardy boy realized what was happening, the police officer had grabbed his arm and pushed him roughly against the side of the van. He kicked Frank's feet apart, shoving him forward.

"Spread 'em!" the man snapped. Frank struggled, but he had been taken by surprise, and at this point had no leverage; in seconds he found himself spread-eagled against the van, and the next minute, he felt his arms yanked behind him, and the cold bite of handcuffs on his wrists.

"Megan, lock the doors!" he screamed, but before she could react, the policeman jerked open the driver's door once again. At the same moment, a small, dark-colored car slid smoothly up next to the van. Two men wearing ski masks leaped from the vehicle. Frank struggled madly to free himself from his captor's grip, all to no avail. The men pulled open the passenger door of the van, and dragged Megan from her seat, despite her struggles and screams; then she was shoved into the rear seat of the car.

Now Frank felt himself being dragged towards the police vehicle by the erstwhile police officer; one of the other men came over to help. The back door was opened, and while the masked man held Frank pinned against the side of the car, the other unlocked the handcuffs. With quick, practiced moves, the two men shoved Frank into the caged back seat as the cuffs were ripped from his wrists; the door slammed, effectively trapping him inside.

"Listen to me, Hardy!" the masked man snapped. Frank, nearly maddened, had been frantically pounding on the window with his fists, but now stopped, afraid he might miss hearing something vital. "This time there's no mistake. We've got your girlfriend, and you're going to do exactly as you're told, or she'll be killed, understand? Understand?" he roared, when Frank didn't answer immediately.

Frank nodded grimly, and the man continued speaking. "When you manage to get out of there – and you'll manage, eventually – you'll find your instructions in your van. And don't tell anyone about this, got it? If you tell anyone – even that precious brother of yours – the little redhead here, will die. Die, Hardy, you understand that?"

"I understand – you bas-" Frank cut off the word abruptly, and substituted a gesture instead, making sure the man could see it through the window. His jailer simply laughed, and turned away. Frank watched him toss something into the front seat of the van, and close the doors, then calmly get into the other car, along with the second masked person, the "police officer" – and Megan. They drove away, down the street, and in just a few seconds, even the glow of their taillights was no longer visible.

Locked inside the back of the police car, Frank began searching frantically for a way to escape. The doors were locked, and as he had known before – but never experienced quite in this way! – a person can't open the back doors of a squad car from the inside. There was a wire mesh partition separating the back of the car's interior from the front. Frank tried for several minutes to pry the mesh loose from its fastenings, but discovered it was an impossible task. He attempted to crack the window glass by hitting it with a seat belt buckle – to no avail; he couldn't get enough leverage, and it was too light anyhow. He slumped down in the seat, burying his head in his hands – and spied something protruding from a shallow pocket in one of the doors.

With a gasp of relief, he reached down and pulled out a small crowbar. _I guess it wouldn't have done them much good if I'd been locked in here forever,_ he thought. _I couldn't follow any instructions from here!_ A few hard blows with the crowbar cracked the window, and Frank spent a moment or two smashing out the glass, mostly in fury at what had just taken place. Finally he was able to reach the door handle and open the car door. He ran to the van and flung himself inside. His keys were still in the ignition…and a cassette tape lay on the passenger seat.

With trembling fingers, Frank started the engine and inserted the cassette into the van's tape player…and listened.

 _Frank Hardy._ It was the same voice he had heard on the telephone the night before. Menacing and cold, a rough-sounding bass voice with a sharp edge. _If you are hearing this, then I know you are back in your own vehicle. There is no use trying to track the officer who stopped you; he isn't a member of Bayport's finest. Likewise the police car. I warned you last night not to tell anyone about this; I'm warning you again. If you tell anyone, both girls will die._ Frank jerked in shock. Both girls? What other girl? _You are to go home, Hardy, and wait for instructions. Understand? Go home and wait. Oh – just in case you don't believe me, here's someone who'll prove it to you._

There was a prolonged rustling noise on the tape, sounds of a microphone being moved, perhaps. And then another voice spoke – a voice very familiar to Frank. He listened, horrified, to the trembling words on the tape.

 _Frank? It's Callie. He means it, Frank. He's pointing a gun at my head as I'm saying this. He says he'll kill me – and he'll kill Megan too – if you don't cooperate with him. Frank, I'm so sorry about this. I'm so sorry. I know you don't feel about me the way you used to – but please, Frank, please don't let him kill me! Don't let him kill_ _us_ _!_

Then there was nothing but silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

Thanks to those readers who have kindly left commentary on prior chapters.

My deepest apologies; I downloaded the wrong chapter for #5, and posted #6 instead. They are both correctly posted now. I hope. I won't blame anyone for ceasing to read the story, since I'm botching it up so badly.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 5

Frank drove home through the deepening twilight in a daze. He had played the cassette tape over and over, trying to catch anything that might give him a clue as to the speaker's identity, or to Callie's whereabouts. But he could find nothing there that gave him any hope.

 _Once upon a time,_ he reflected bitterly, _Callie would have managed to drop a hint. She would have thought of_ _something_ _that might help me find her. But not this time. Not_ _now_ _…not when Megan's life is at stake too!_ He pulled himself up short, realizing that he was being utterly unfair to Callie, who had been put in a terribly position through no fault of her own. _Sorry, Cal; I know you would if you could._

Frank pulled into their usual parking spot in the driveway, noting that Joe was still absent. He went into the house, and was greeted with tantalizing aromas issuing from the kitchen. Unable to help himself, he sniffed experimentally, and thought, _Mom's making lasagna or spaghetti for supper._ He remembered the instructions on the tape, and realized he needed to act normally; it was difficult to keep secrets in the Hardy household.

"Hi Mom," he greeted his mother, going into the kitchen. "Something sure smells good."

His mother looked up from the pan whose contents she was stirring. "Just spaghetti," she commented. "Everyone's tired of turkey leftovers now, so I'm having something completely different." She frowned a little, still looking at her elder son. "Are you feeling all right, Frank? You look upset."

"I'm fine, Mom." Frank turned away, and hastily got a glass from a cupboard; he went to the sink and filled the glass with water.

"Joe told me about your accident yesterday—" she began.

 _Accident? What accident? Oh…._

"Oh, on the ice? No big deal." Frank kept his back to Laura as he spoke. He sipped the water, staring at the wallpaper abstractedly.

"Are you sure, honey? Joe said you took quite a bump on the head…perhaps you should have seen a doctor—"

"Mom, I'm fine; I don't need to see a doctor, okay?" Frank snapped, and set his glass on the counter with a thump.

"Frank—"

"I'm sorry, Mom; I didn't mean to yell like that. But I'm really okay – nothing wrong with my head at all." _Yeah, if you don't count being insane with worry…._

"Is there something else troubling you?" Laura persisted, gently.

"No, Mom!" Frank shouted. "There's nothing wrong, okay?" He bolted from the kitchen – and in his haste nearly flattened his father, who was emerging from his den.

"Whoa there!" Fenton put up his hands to fend off his rapidly-moving son. "If you're going to dash through the house like this very much, we'll need to install traffic lights!"

"Sorry, Dad," Frank muttered. "I was just going upstairs…." He stepped to the side, hoping to avoid any more conversation, but Fenton laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Thanks for helping your mother with those Christmas decorations today, son. I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you a hand, but these security arrangements are giving me fits. You should have heard what the German security chief proposed today—"

"Dad, I – I don't – uh, can we talk about this later?" Frank blurted, desperate to get away from his all-too-observant father.

"I was just making conversation, Frank; it isn't something we need to talk about later," Fenton answered gently. "Is everything all right?" he added with some concern.

"Sure, sure – everything's fine. Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm all right?"

"Maybe because you look like something's troubling you," Fenton replied. "Is everything all right between you and Megan? You – didn't have a fight, or something, did you?"

"No, we didn't have a fight!" Frank shouted. "Can't we just drop the subject?" He jerked away from his father and dashed for the stairs. As he flung himself into his bedroom, he heard his parents conversing softly below. _Oh, great! Now they think Megan and I are quarreling, and I'll get the "calm down and let things blow over" lecture! Oh God,_ _what_ _am I going to do? Where could Callie and Megan be? And who could have them? What is it I'm going to be told to do?_

Frank pointedly closed his bedroom door, and sprawled across his bed, fighting to regain control of himself. The questions streaming through his mind couldn't be answered, and the more he tried, the more appeared. All he could do was wait. What if someone else answered the telephone when his mysterious caller tried to contact him? Would he calmly ask for Frank Hardy, or would he hang up and try again later? If they – whoever "they" was – couldn't reach him, would they patiently wait, or would they kill Callie…or Megan? Frank groaned and pounded his bed with his fists.

"Frank?" There was a light tap on his door, and Laura's voice called his name. "Dinner in about 15 minutes, all right?"

"Okay. Thanks," Frank managed to reply, although nearly choked by misery.

Just as Frank was forcing himself to get up and go downstairs to eat, he heard familiar footsteps outside his door, and Joe's off-key whistling. He sat down on his bed again, trying to prepare himself for another possible confrontation. Evading his parents' questions was one thing; Joe was harder to fool.

After a moment he heard Joe in their connecting bathroom, apparently washing up before dinner; then came a perfunctory rap on the door, and Joe popped his head into the room.

"Hey bro, how's it going?"

"Fine." Frank grinned at his younger brother tightly. "How was the basketball game?"

"You missed some fun!" Joe replied. "We had enough people for three-on-three; and Biff and I ended up on the same team. We slaughtered 'em!"

"Yeah, who's going to stop that combination? Who'd you have to play forward?" Frank hoped he sounded convincing. At any other time, he would have been enthusiastic about discussing the finer points of the game; now he could barely concentrate on what Joe was saying.

But Joe had stopped talking about basketball, and was sitting down beside Frank on the bed. "Uh – Frank? Mom said something about you being upset when you came home….Is everything okay?"

"Sure, everything's fine. What would be wrong?" Frank felt as if an invisible hand was clenching his stomach.

"Well – she seems to think you and Megan might have had an argument, or something. Now, don't get all hostile!" Joe rebuked, as Frank drew in a breath, ready to argue. "I didn't say you had a fight, I said Mom was worried you might have. I know you and Megan are crazy about each other and don't fight – but you know mothers. 'Even the most devoted couples can have a spat…' sort of thing."

"Megan and I—" Frank stopped to draw another deep breath. _How many times am I going to have to go through this?_ "Megan and I did  not have a fight! Everything is just fine between us! Okay? It's fine!"

"Okay, okay, fair enough!" Joe said soothingly. "But I know you, and you look worried. You've looked worried ever since last night. If everything's okay with you and Megan, is there something else wrong?"

"No!" Frank gritted. "Can't you understand plain English? I keep saying it over and over, and nobody listens!"

"Hey, it's me, remember?" Joe grasped Frank's arm, trying to turn Frank towards himself. "We don't keep secrets from each other, right? I know you don't always think of me as having any brains, but I have enough to know when you're upset."

Frank jerked himself free and stood up. "Joe, leave me alone!" he shouted. "I'm sick and tired of all your questions! I'm tired of everybody's questions!"

Joe stood too, exhibiting amazing patience with Frank's temper. "Look, I'm just trying to help – can't you tell me what's wrong?"

"NO!" Frank practically screamed. "Now get out!" He seized Joe's arm in an iron grip, dragged him to the door and shoved him out. "Just get out and leave me alone, Joe! I don't need your help! I don't want your help!" He slammed the door with a resounding _bang_ , leaving an astonished Joe standing in the hallway.

"You may not want my help," Joe whispered, staring at his brother's door, "but I know something's wrong. And if it's so bad you can't even tell me…well, big brother, then I guess I'll just have to find out what it is on my own!"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit for the entire plot, and heartfelt thanks.

Thank you to those readers who have left comments and feedback on prior chapters. It is much appreciated.

 **January Thaw**

EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 6

Callie Shaw sat disconsolately in the bedroom, her left wrist handcuffed to the chair's arm. As prisons go, she supposed she was fairly well off. Her jailers were relatively polite; they escorted her to the restroom when she requested it, they had brought her things to eat, and the previous night she had been warm and comfortable in the bed, even if she had been cuffed to the bedpost. However, all three of the guards – there seemed to be three – kept their faces shrouded in lightweight ski-type masks that covered their heads completely, except for their eyes; and they talked very little. She had had no chance to see any identifying features, or pick out anything unusual about their voices.

 _How long is this going to go on? They made me make that tape this morning…I thought something would have happened by now. Does Frank even have it yet? Does he even_ _know_ _I've been kidnapped? And what is it they want him to do…what's so important?_

The door opened, and three figures entered the room: two of the masked guards, and a small, feminine form dressed in slacks and a parka. She was blindfolded, stumbling between her captors as they pushed and pulled her along. They removed her coat, sat her in another armchair, similar to the one holding Callie, and attached her wrist to it in the same manner. Then they whipped the blindfold from her face, and Callie got a good look at her for the first time.

 _She's awfully cute…so tiny! Just look at that pretty hair! And her eyes are beautiful!_

The strange girl was glaring up at the guards. "What kind of stupid game is this?" she demanded. "What are you doing, going around Bayport kidnapping girls, just for the fun of it? If you're looking for a ransom, I can tell you you've made a mistake; you won't get anything from my family; there's nothing to get!"

"Shut up!" growled one of the men. "If you're going to whine all the time, we'll either dope you to keep you quiet, or we'll shut you up another way – and I don't think you'd like it." He stepped toward her, his hand raised threateningly, but his companion caught his arm.

"Stop it, you know Sullivan doesn't want them hurt. At least not yet," he added, glancing at the girls. "Come on, let's get out of here," he continued, tugging his partner toward the door. "Someone will be back with your dinners, girls." The two men exited, shutting and – from the sounds – locking the door behind them.

Left alone, the two girls surveyed each other carefully. The little redhead spoke first:

"Do you have any idea what is going on?"

Callie shook her head silently. Her mind was suddenly racing. _This must be Frank's new girlfriend! First these idiots snatched me, now they've got_ _her_ _!_ _Why_ _?_

"My name is Megan – Megan Wright," the other girl continued.

"I'm Callie Shaw," Callie murmured. She waited for a reaction from Megan, but received none. _So no one has even mentioned me? Frank hasn't even told her my name? I wasn't even worth_ _that_ _much?_

"How long have you been here?" Megan asked gently, "and have they hurt you – or anything?"

"I've been here since yesterday afternoon," Callie replied. "They grabbed me when I was going to the dry cleaners'. And I don't know why; they haven't told me what they want. But they haven't hurt me, no – unless you count the chloroform!"

"They pulled me right out of my boyfriend's car!" Megan said with a shudder. "But at least they didn't chloroform me."

"Your boyfriend – what did he do? Was he there?" Callie asked.

"He couldn't do anything – they'd already grabbed him and put handcuffs on him, and shoved him in the back of a police car – well, it looked like a police car, anyway!" Megan pulled on the handcuff holding her in the chair. "Do you think they're just going around Bayport snatching women off the streets?"

"No, I don't think so." Callie considered the situation a moment and decided honesty was the best way to go. "They wanted us especially."

"Wanted us?" Megan gasped. "Why?"

Callie smiled bitterly. "Because you are currently Frank Hardy's girlfriend…and I used to be!"

Megan's long-lashed eyes widened, and Callie felt a stab of envy. _Those eyes are really something. Wonder if she wears tinted contacts, or if that color is natural._ "You –  you're the girl who went to Colorado…and then broke up with him?"

"So you have heard of me!" Callie snapped.

"I didn't know your name," Megan faltered. "I just knew whoever it was he used to go with went away to school – and then wrote him breaking up." Her lips compressed in a grim line. "You hurt him."

"Obviously he didn't stay hurt very long!" Illogically, Callie was angry – Who was this little interloper, anyway? "He found you quickly enough! How does it feel to know you were picked up on the rebound?"

Megan gasped as if she'd received a dousing with ice water. "I – you – Oooh! How dare you? After dumping him the way you did!"

Suddenly ashamed of herself, Callie dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. We're in an awful mess, and fighting isn't going to help anything." Curious, however, she cocked her head to the side. "Frank met you at school?"

Megan's lips twitched into a wry smile. "I asked him to help me—" The smile dimmed. "to help me find out who murdered my father."

"Who mur – oh, I'm sorry!" Again, curiosity won out. "Did he?"

"Yes." To Callie's surprise, Megan suddenly laughed, and a dimple appeared in one cheek. "I got kidnapped then, too! I'd only known him three or four days! Does this happen often?"

"Entirely too often," Callie admitted, "and here I thought it wouldn't be happening anymore, once we weren't dating!"

The door opened, and both girls tensed. The man who entered the room was also wearing a ski-type mask, but there was an indefinable air of authority about him. This was no simple guard.

"Well girls, are you comfortable? Anything you need?"

Both Megan and Callie glared at him; neither bothered to answer. Undeterred by their hostility, the man sat down on the bed where he could watch them both.

"The tape you made, Miss Shaw, is now in Frank Hardy's possession. Assuming he has listened to it, he should be waiting for further instructions. That he follows these instructions completely is germane to your continued safety – and yours, Miss Wright."

"What kind of instructions?" Megan asked quietly. "What is it you want him to do?"

Although they couldn't see him smile, amusement tinged their captor's voice. "Do you really want to know? I suppose you do, at that. All right, listen…."

##########

Joe Hardy sat at the kitchen table, moodily watching his mother as she loaded the dishwasher. "Mom, did he talk to you when you took up his dinner? Anything to tell you what's wrong?"

Laura shook her head. "No. He very politely let me talk at him – and didn't hear a single word I said!"

Joe sighed and got to his feet. "I'm going to make a couple of phone calls."

His mother glanced at him. "Honey, I know you're worried about Frank…but don't go interfering, please? Let him work things out for himself."

"Yeah, yeah…." Joe walked from the kitchen, his brow furrowed in thought.

He ascended the stairs, glancing unhappily at his brother's closed door as he passed it, went into his own room and picked up the extension phone on his bedside table. He dialed a number and listened to a disturbing number of rings…and no answer. _Where's Megan? She ought to be home…She said her mom went to New York the day after New Year's, to visit a friend for a few days; Megan's alone in the house…she's obviously not with Frank, so where could she be?_

A sudden impulse brought him to his feet. He picked up his car keys, hurried down the stairs, and grabbed his coat. Giving his mother a hasty kiss, he murmured "I'll be back in a little while," and dashed for the van before Laura could frame a reply.

Shivering in the bitterly cold air, Joe hopped into the van and started the motor. He backed down the driveway cautiously, mindful of the icy spots, then swung the van onto the street.

When he reached the Wright house, Joe was very surprised to see it was completely dark; although his call had gone unanswered, he had cherished the hope that perhaps Megan was simply not answering the telephone. _If she and Frank had a fight,_ he reasoned, _maybe she'd just assume it was him calling – oh, they may have Caller ID – and maybe she's too mad to talk to him!_ He got out of the van and rang the doorbell, but there was no response. Somewhat concerned, Joe walked over to one of the front windows and tried to see in, but the interior of the house was dark, and he could see nothing. _Maybe she went over to Vanessa's? I could call Van and ask…but still, she'd leave a light or two on, for when she came home, wouldn't she?_ The garage doors were down, so he had no idea whether Megan's car was there, or not. Joe reached into his pocket, only to discover that he'd left the house without his cell phone.

Somewhat discouraged, Joe climbed back into the van and drove home, listening absentmindedly to a CD of Christmas carols that Frank had put in the player a month ago. After parking the van, Joe reached to pop out the CD and take it in the house – _Enough with the Christmas carols, it's past New Year's! –_ when a cassette tape sticking out of the dash caught his attention. _That's odd. Where did that cassette come from?_ Somewhat puzzled, he turned the ignition back on and pushed the cassette back into the tape player. Nothing but silence greeted him; after a few moments he pushed Rewind, waited until the tape stopped, then hit Play once more.

Two minutes later, Joe ejected the tape and turned off the motor. _My God – no wonder Frank's going out of his mind! Megan –_ _and_ _Callie! I thought he was bad when Megan was kidnapped before; this is so much worse…!_ _And I can't let him know_ _I_ _know about it; he might give something away to the kidnappers!_

Joe strode into the house, hung up his coat, and went upstairs without encountering either of his parents. Frank's door was still closed, but Joe could hear faint sounds within; he stopped in the hallway and listened. Rhythmic footsteps approached the door, then retreated; Frank was evidently pacing. Joe winced, and went into his own room. He perched on the edge of his bed and reached for the phone.

"Vanessa? Hi, babe…have you got some time? Can I come over? I need to talk to you – right away….Well, it's sort of personal – but it's sort of about a case, too. I need your help….No! – no, it's not something I can discuss with Frank…."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give all credit and heartfelt thanks.

My deepest apologies for screwing up posting Chapters 5 and 6. I won't blame anyone for ceasing to read the story, after I botched things so badly with it.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 7

Six steps to the door…six steps back. Turn and do it again. Six steps to the door…six steps back. _What are they going to ask me to do? What_ _am_ _I going to do? What have they done to Megan? And Callie? Where could they be held prisoner –_ _anywhere_ _!_

Frank paced his bedroom, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. Occasionally he pounded one fist into the other palm in a furious gesture of frustration. But the activity did nothing to relieve his tension; he was wound as tightly as a coiled watch spring with anxiety.

 _Mom thought she was being so tactful and understanding!_ he thought. _Well, it_ _was_ _nice of her to bring me some dinner – especially after the way I acted!_ Laura had waited until the rest of the family had eaten, then brought Frank a plate of spaghetti and sauce, tapping gently on the door and insisting she be allowed into his room. When Frank finally admitted her, she simply handed him the plate and pushed him toward his desk chair. _Sometimes mothers don't take "no" for an answer!_ Despite his turmoil, Frank's mouth watered at the aroma rising from the plate, and he reluctantly sat down and began to eat.

His mother sat down on the edge of the bed and waited quietly until the plate was nearly empty. Then she began to speak, still very gently: " _Frank, I don't know what has happened, and you don't have to tell me. I assume it's something having to do with Megan…."_ Frank had been unable to stop himself from nodding a little at this point, and Laura continued. " _Honey, I know you're upset right now, and things look bleak…but believe me, your and Megan's love is strong enough to withstand it – whatever it is that's happened between you. I'm sure things will work out all right."_ When Frank didn't answer, she sighed and got to her feet; kissed her elder son's dark hair gently, took the empty plate and departed, quietly closing the door after herself.

 _She's sure things will work out all right!_ _Nothing's_ _going to work out all right! Mom, we didn't fight – she's been_ _kidnapped_ _! She's going to be killed – she and Callie, both! Unless I do something – something that I don't know about yet!_

Frank paced the familiar route once more, and heard footsteps approach his door and pause. _That's Joe,_ he thought, as the footsteps proceeded into his brother's room. _Joe, I need your help so badly – and I can't ask for it! I'm sorry I threw you out of here; I know you were only trying to help…but you_ _can't_ _help; you_ _can't_ _know – or they'll kill the girls! Oh God, Megan, what's happening to you right now? Are they hurting you? Have they hurt Callie?_ He flung himself heavily on his bed and buried his face in his arms. Through the wall separating his room and Joe's, he could hear his brother's voice; apparently Joe was talking on the telephone. The sound continued for a few more minutes, and then Joe walked past in the hall again, and went downstairs.

 _He must have a date with Vanessa_. Frank glanced at his clock-radio; eight-thirty-five. _Late for a date, though._ He had heard the van's motor earlier, but Joe had returned after only a half hour's absence; now he was leaving again? Mildly curious despite his agitation, Frank got up and walked to the window where he watched Joe backing out of the driveway. _Wonder what he's up to?_

Since he was again on his feet, Frank resumed his restless pacing. Six steps to the door…six steps back. _What are they going to ask me to do? Has someone discovered our connection to the Network? Suppose that's happened – I could be asked for access codes, identities, file contents… What would I do? How could I tell – how could I_ _not_ _tell?_

Six steps to the door…six steps back…six steps to the door…. _Revenge? Joe and I have put a lot of people behind bars – so has Dad. And occasionally some of those people are released, or escape. Or they have relatives to do their dirty work for them. Could I ask Dad if he knows about anyone being released lately? No…Dad's too busy right now with those security arrangements. Could I ask Con Riley to check?_ _No_ _, I can't do that! If I'm being watched, and someone saw me go to the police station… I could phone Con, maybe? Not tonight, though…tomorrow. I'll call him tomorrow and ask for a list…._

Six steps to the door…six steps back…. _Terrorists? maybe someone wants me to sabotage something? Rob a bank? Assassinate somebody? Build a nuclear bomb? But I don't know_ _how_ _to build a nuclear bomb!_ Even as upset as he was, Frank had to laugh a little at the wild path his thoughts had suddenly taken. _Don't be so stupid, Hardy, no one would ask you to do that!_ Six steps to the door… _But maybe I'll be asked to steal parts? Steal plutonium? I don't know where I could get any plutonium!_ He shook himself impatiently; he was starting to sound irrational even to himself. Six steps to the door…six steps back.

##########

Joe parked the van as close to the Benders' restored farmhouse as possible; the wind chill was making it seem much colder than the two degrees registered on the van's temperature readout, and he wanted no more time in the cold than necessary. He hurried to the door and knocked loudly.

Vanessa opened it almost immediately. "Come in, quick, before you freeze!" she instructed, pulling Joe inside. Once he was in the house, she quickly divested him of his parka, hanging it on the back of a kitchen chair, then turned and slipped into his arms. "Snuggle up and get warm!" she murmured.

Joe held her close for a moment. _Ah, Vanessa! What would I do if I was in Frank's place, and somebody snatched_ _you_ _?_ The thought shook him from the enjoyment of hugging her. "Like I said on the phone, I need your help. Frank's in trouble."

Vanessa pulled away to look keenly at her boyfriend. Her soft gray-blue eyes met Joe's sparkling blue ones, and she noted the worried expression they contained. "Frank's in trouble? What are you talking about? What kind of trouble could Frank be in that you need my help for?"

Joe pulled her toward the family room. "Is your mom around?" he asked softly.

"She's out in the studio," Vanessa replied, referring to Andrea Bender's animation studio. "She's got a deadline to meet, and she's been working night and day lately."

Joe sighed and sat down on the couch. "Okay. Listen: Saturday night we got this peculiar phone call from Callie Shaw's mother; she was looking for Callie, and wanted to know if Frank had seen her."

"From Callie's mother!" Vanessa exclaimed. She sat down next to Joe. "Why would she think Frank would know?"

"I think she was just grasping at straws," Joe replied. "Anyway, Frank told her he hadn't seen Callie, and didn't know where she was. We didn't think anything more about it. About that time, you picked me up and we left for the movie. When I got home, everyone was asleep. Today, everything was fine, right? We took down the Christmas decorations. Megan came over and helped. I went and played basketball. Frank took Megan home – and came home as cross as a bear!"

"Frank and Megan had a fight? I can't believe it! They don't fight – ever! They don't even argue!"

"We all thought they had a fight," Joe explained. "Frank's shut himself in his room and won't talk to anyone; snaps your head off if you look sideways at him. He threw me out of his room!"

Vanessa giggled at his injured tone. "Maybe a quarrel with Megan goes too deep to share with anyone, Joe – even you," she reminded him.

"Okay, I could accept that. But I wanted to help, right? So I decided to call Megan and see if I could get the story from her. But she didn't answer the phone. I figured maybe she's too mad at Frank to talk to him; so I drove over there. Vanessa, there's no one home at Megan's house! It was all dark!"

Vanessa frowned. "She said her mother was going to be gone for a few days…" she began. Joe held up a hand to quiet her.

"No, listen! I drove back home, and I'm ready to get out, and I notice this cassette tape in the deck of the van…we don't play cassettes much; you know that. We play CDs. I wondered what it was – so I listened to it." Joe stopped and gulped, hard. "Van, it was a guy that said he had both Megan and Callie now; that there weren't going to be any more mistakes. He told Frank to wait for instructions – and that he needed to follow them explicitly – or Callie and Megan would be killed!"

Vanessa gasped. "No! Oh Joe, that can't be true, can it?"

"It's all too true," Joe said grimly. "After the guy talked for awhile, there was a second part…Callie was on that tape!"

Vanessa's fingers gripped his arm so tightly that Joe winced and gently pried them loose. "Easy, hon, easy….It was Callie all right. I recognized her voice. She verified that this lunatic – whoever it is! – has her, had a gun pointed at her head as she was speaking, and she believes she'll - they'll – be killed if Frank doesn't comply with demands…said demands to be told to him later. And one of the stipulations is that Frank doesn't tell anyone."

"But you know…." Vanessa breathed.

"Yes." Joe's tone was steely-hard. "I know. And now you know. And we've got to help Frank somehow."

"Did the tape say when he would get the instructions?"

"Nope. And if he's being contacted tonight, I'm in trouble. But I wanted to talk to you in person, not over the phone." He put an arm about Vanessa, and she slid her arms around his neck; they clung together tightly for a moment, sharing their distress. Finally Joe loosened his grip and sat back, but he kept his arm around her. "Will you help me?"

"Of course, Joe. You know that. What can I do?"

"Tomorrow I want you to contact Callie's mother. I know you wrote Callie off, last September…but you were best friends once. Mrs. Shaw would probably tell you if she knows anything about Callie's disappearance. I'm assuming she called the police, but if there's no signs of violence, they won't take any action until 48 hours has passed."

Vanessa wrinkled her nose expressively. "Mrs. Shaw and I never got along all that well – but I'll do it, of course. What else?"

"Mmmm – this is a long shot, but – do you think you could hack into Frank's computer?"

"Probably – but why?"

"Just in case they – the mysterious 'they' – contact him by e-mail. Can you get into his e-mail account?"

Vanessa whistled disapprovingly. "Joe, are you sure you're not just being nosy? Frank's probably got a lot of personal stuff in there!"

"You think I don't know that?" Joe snapped. "You don't have to read everything, for Pete's sake! And it wouldn't be anything he got before tonight, at the earliest, anyway!"

"Okay, okay, I'll try," Vanessa soothed him. "And what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to bug the telephone," Joe announced with a somewhat shamefaced grin.

"What?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, Vanessa couldn't help laughing.

"I mean it!" Joe insisted. "Dad has devices that go on the line where it comes into the house. I'm going to install one tomorrow morning, and have it trigger a tape recorder in my room."

"Can you do that?" Amusement still tinged Vanessa's voice, but now there was disbelief there too.

"I know how to do it," Joe assured her. "It only takes a few minutes. And I'll just toss some clothes on top of the recorder. As long as there's nothing actively growing in there, Mom leaves my room alone. And Frank's in no shape to be looking, right now." He sighed, imagining Frank's despair and tenuous grip on his emotions. "If he's contacted by telephone, I'll know about it."

##########

"Callie – do you think Frank will do it?" Megan's voice was very soft. The two girls were lying side by side on the wide bed; each with a wrist cuffed to a bedpost. The lights were off, and the only illumination in the room came from the moonlit windows.

"He's got to!" Callie replied. "Frank loves – loves you," she corrected hastily.

"He wouldn't do what that horrible Sullivan guy wants him to; he wouldn't; he won't!" Megan sounded near tears. "He's too honorable…." _Oh Frank, please find some way!_ She ached with the need to see Frank; to find refuge from her terror in the sanctuary of his arms.

"He's honorable, that's true—" Callie admitted. "But Megan, he wouldn't let something happen to you, if there was anything he could do to prevent it. If you're under his protection, he'll do anything to save you." Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible even to Megan. "I'm not so sure he'd do it for me, though."

Megan turned her face away, and her reply was merely a silent movement of her lips. "And whose fault is that?"

##########

Monday morning dawned, bitter cold but with the winter sun shining bleakly. Joe was up early – despite the fact that he had lain awake a long time the night before. He had been unable to sleep, for he could hear Frank's footsteps in his room – footsteps that paced and turned, paced and turned. At long last, however, Frank had apparently succumbed to exhaustion, for the footsteps ceased…and Joe, too, fell asleep.

Joe slipped silently down the stairs, his athletic shoes silent on the carpeting. The door to his father's study was shut, but Fenton hadn't locked it when he had retired the night before. _He didn't think he'd have any reason to lock_ _us_ _out!_ Joe thought, guiltily, as he cautiously entered the study. He knew where Fenton kept the phone-tapping devices, and soon had pocketed the desired item.

Joe shivered with cold and apprehension as he knelt at the side of the house, brushing the snow away from the box where the phone lines entered. Attaching the device took only a few minutes, but he was chilled through by the time he reentered his home. Joe quietly laid his coat over the back of the family-room couch, deciding not to risk opening and closing the closet door again.

He tiptoed up the stairs, and had almost reached his room when suddenly Frank's door opened. Joe leaped back with a muffled yip of surprise, and Frank jumped, too.

"Jeez! You scared me half to death!" Joe hissed, automatically. He caught sight of Frank's face and bit his lip in consternation. There were dark circles under Frank's eyes, and his face was gaunt and pale with exhaustion and worry.

"What were you doing lurking in the hall anyway?" the elder Hardy snapped in a whisper.

Joe's heart contracted with pity. "I'm sorry," he whispered in return. "I was just – I was worried about you, bro." He reached out a hand and gripped Frank's shoulder. "Can't I help at all, pal?"

Frank shook his head miserably. "No," he murmured. "No one can help." He met Joe's questioning gaze, and tears stood in his brown eyes. "but thanks, Joe, for the offer. I won't forget it."

"You'd better not," Joe chided him, trying to keep his tone light. He shook Frank's shoulder gently. "Remember, I'm here if you need me. Okay?" Frank nodded, eyes on the floor. "Come on, let's get some breakfast. Mom and Dad aren't up yet, but I'm hungry."

"I'm not—" Frank began, but his uncooperative stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. Despite his mental anguish, Frank couldn't help grinning a little. "Okay," he agreed. "Breakfast it is."

"I'll be right down." Joe released his shoulder and headed into his room. "Go on, I'll be there in a minute." Frank obligingly headed down the staircase, so he didn't see Joe as he bent over the little tape machine next to his extension phone.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give credit for the entire plot, and heartfelt thanks.

Thank you to the kind readers who have left commentary and feedback. I appreciate you immensely.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 8

Joe and Frank sat quietly at the kitchen table, ostensibly reading sections of the morning newspaper, but each immersed in his own thoughts. Frank held a piece of toast in one hand, and took a bite occasionally as he stared at the front page; Joe was spooning up cereal without a great deal of attention; several times he missed the bowl completely, and once he absent-mindedly hit himself in the chin with the spoon.

Finally, Frank broke the silence. "Since you don't have school today, what are you going to do?"

Joe glanced across the table. "Oh – I don't know. Get together with some of the guys, maybe; shoot some hoops. Hang out with Vanessa." He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "You want to play basketball later?" He watched Frank carefully from under his lashes.

"Maybe – I'll see when the time comes." Frank avoided the inquisitive blue gaze of his younger brother. "I've got some things to do around here."

Joe nodded, got to his feet, and put his cereal bowl in the sink. "I'm going to go up and take a shower," he commented, and left the kitchen.

When Joe was halfway up the stairs, the telephone began to ring. He took the last several steps in two bounds, and hurtled into his room, carefully closing the door behind him. The phone cut off in mid-ring; apparently Frank had answered it. Joe bent over his little tape recorder and watched it whirring softly. He didn't dare pick up the receiver on his extension phone, for fear the sound would carry over the wires; all he could do was wait.

Finally the recorder clicked off; the phone call was ended. Joe pushed Rewind, then hit Play when the tape hit the beginning once more. He listened, holding his breath.

" _Hardy residence."_ Frank's voice, sounding somewhat shaken.

" _Frank Hardy, please."_ Joe felt an uneasy thrill; it was the same person who had made the cassette recording.

" _This is he."_

" _Well, young Mr. Hardy, I have a request to make of you. I need some information…and you're going to get it for me."_

" _What kind of information?"_ Frank grated.

" _There's a fairly important conference scheduled to begin the end of this week. A conference where the President, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, the German Chancellor, and several other heads of state will be gathered. I happen to know your father is handling the security arrangements for this conference. I want copies of the plans for those security arrangements…and you're my best bet for acquiring them."_

Joe's eyes widened as he listened, and he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

" _I'll expect them delivered to my courier, Mr. Hardy, at 3:00 this afternoon. You will meet him behind the supermarket that closed last autumn; the one on 12_ _th_ _Street. Please note:_ _behind_ _the store. Not the front parking lot. When I'm satisfied that you have carried out your part of the bargain, I will release Ms. Shaw and Ms. Wright – unscathed, I might add. But_ _only_ _when I am satisfied, do you understand?"_

Frank sounded as if he were choking when he replied. _"May I ask something?"_

" _Go ahead."_

" _I don't – I don't think the plans have been finalized yet…sir. Even if I_ _can_ _get them, what if they are changed later?"_

" _A very astute question; I applaud you!"_ The deep voice sounded amused. _"I'll deal with that aspect if the situation arises."_

Frank spoke again, and now Joe could hear terror underlying the carefully controlled tones. _"I'd like to speak to Meg – to Miss Wright, please."_

" _I expected you would. One moment please."_ There followed some rustlings and clicks, then a soft, familiar voice sounded. Joe closed his eyes, wincing. It was definitely Megan.

" _Frank, are you there?"_

" _Megan_ _! Oh thank God! Are you okay?"_ Frank's voice broke. _"Tell me – tell me you're all right…."_

" _I'm all right, Frank."_ Megan paused a moment, then went on, her voice becoming stronger as she continued speaking. _"Callie's all right too. They haven't – haven't mistreated us. We haven't been hurt or anything."_ She paused again. _"Frank – you mustn't do this – what you're being asked to! You_ _can't_ _! What this could mean—"_

" _Megan, I'll do whatever I have to do."_ Frank spoke firmly; no hesitation now.

" _You mustn't – ohhhh!"_ Megan's sudden gasp made Joe jump, and he heard, on the tape, Frank's quick indrawn breath.

" _What are you doing to her?"_ the elder Hardy practically screamed the words.

" _Frank, it's all right, I'm all right."_ Megan was speaking again, hastily. _"But I guess I'm not supposed to tell you that you shouldn't do what they're asking!"_ She gave a shaky little laugh, and Joe found himself swallowing hard, comparing the taut sound to the bubbling giggles Megan's usual laughter involved. _"Please, dearest, please remember – no matter what happens – I love you. I love you so much. The last three months have been so wonderful."_

Frank groaned almost inaudibly. _"I love you too, Megan,"_ he whispered. And then there was the sharp **click** of a receiver being replaced.

Joe shut off the tape recorder and made sure it was set to tape any other incoming calls. He ached to go downstairs and check on Frank, but knew that would be a mistake. Instead, he headed for the bathroom and turned on the water for his shower.

Ten minutes later Joe sat on his bed tying his shoelaces and wondering if it was too early to call Vanessa. As he pondered, the phone rang again. This time he reached out and lifted the receiver to answer it.

"Hardy residence….oh, hi Vanessa! I was just thinking of calling you." Joe leaned back against the headboard and crossed his feet at the ankles, making himself comfortable. "You already talked to Callie's mother? What did she have to say?"

" _She's_ _very_ _upset,"_ Vanessa reported. _"They've called the police, of course, but you were right; they can't do anything until 48 hours has gone by. She called Callie's boyfriend in Colorado – he hasn't heard anything from her, of course. Right now, the Shaws are simply waiting….Oh Joe, I felt so sorry for them!"_

"I know. Listen, hon – Frank got the call this morning!" Joe lowered his voice conspiratorially, even though he knew no one but Vanessa could hear him.

"Oh! What did they say?" Vanessa demanded.

"He's supposed to give them the security arrangements that Dad's setting up for that big conference – the one with several world leaders."

"Joe – with information like that, there's no telling what kind of havoc could be created!"

"I know," Joe replied grimly, "But that's what the demand is. Oh, he was allowed to talk to Megan."

"Is she all right? And what about Callie?"

"She says they're both all right – so far, anyway. She begged him not to do what was being asked – brave little girl, our Megan!" Joe felt his throat tighten as he remembered the quaver in Megan's voice. "But I know Frank – he'll do whatever it takes to save her. Even if it endangers national security – or international." he added thoughtfully.

"When is Frank supposed to get them the plans?" Vanessa asked.

"Three this afternoon…at that old supermarket on 12th; the one that closed in October. Behind the store, the guy said. Which means I'm going to be there at 2:00, where I can watch the exchange go down. Maybe I can tail them; find out where Callie and Megan are."

"You mean, we are going to be there," Vanessa stated firmly.

"No way are you getting in on this!" Joe objected hastily. "It's wa-a-y too dangerous!"

"You can't go in the van; Frank needs it, and these people already know what it looks like," his girlfriend reminded him. "However, they probably haven't done enough research to know what kind of car I drive. And I'm not letting you borrow it unless I get to come along."

"Sheesh!" Joe slapped his forehead with his free hand. "You are impossible, you know that?"

"I know," she replied sweetly. "So I'll pick you up at 1:45."

##########

All during that morning, after Fenton and Laura arose, ate their breakfasts, went about their various activities, Frank strove to behave in as normal a fashion as possible. He showered and shaved – noting: _I look like death warmed over!_ when he gazed at his mirrored reflection. He managed to hold rational conversations with the other members of his family. And he watched for his chance to get into his father's study.

At lunchtime, the opportunity came. Fenton ate quickly, then excused himself and departed the house, telling Laura he would be gone for several hours. Once the lunch dishes were cleaned up, Laura left to run some errands, reminding Joe before she left that she expected some definite improvement in the condition of his room by the time she returned. Joe rolled his eyes and sighed, but meekly complied; disappearing into his room, from whence there soon issued much banging of closet doors and dresser drawers.

Alone downstairs, Frank walked silently to the door of the study. It was closed, but when he gently tried the knob, he discovered Fenton had left it unlocked. Frank took a deep breath, shivering as he thought about what he intended on doing – and slipped inside, quietly shutting the door behind him.

He scanned the top of his father's desk. Fenton was meticulous when working; there were no loose papers scattered about; no open files. Frank sat down in the desk chair and began going through the folders. Finally he located what he wanted: a detailed list of alarm systems, guard sites, passwords and codes. _This is so wrong! How can I do this? It not only violates national security, it will discredit_ _Dad_ _!_ Frank buried his head in his hands for a moment, his brain whirling. _But if I don't do it – oh God, if I_ _don't_ _…._ The decision was made. Frank removed the lists and turned to the small copier in the corner of the den. Hands shaking, he arranged the papers across the glass screen, shut the lid, and pushed Start.

When the copies slid out, Frank grabbed them, folded them into quarters and stuffed them into his jeans pocket. Then he replaced the original papers in their file folder, tucked it into the pile on the desk, and slipped out of the room.

##########

True to her word, Vanessa arrived at the Hardy home at 1:45. Joe yelled a quick goodbye to Frank, who was seated in the family room, apparently watching television, and sprinted out the door, snatching up his jacket as he went.

"I hope you're satisfied!" he grumbled, settling himself in the Wrangler's passenger seat.

Vanessa smirked at him. "What kind of a greeting is that?" she asked. Joe scowled for a moment, then leaned across the intervening space and kissed her.

"You are totally infuriating," he murmured, "but I have to admit, this whole scheme will work better with you here." He leaned back into his seat and fastened his safety belt. Vanessa put the little jeep in reverse and backed out of the Hardys' driveway.

"This is going to take a while," she commented as she drove. "So I brought some things to while away the time – magazines, and snacks and stuff."

Joe grinned in anticipation. "Hmmm – you have good instincts, girl!" he said, glancing into the back seat at the various sacks. "Remind me to bring you along on stakeouts more often!"

"Where do you want to park?" Vanessa asked Joe a few minutes later, as she neared the old supermarket.

"Somewhere where you'll look natural sitting for an hour," he responded. "How about in front of that house across the street?" He pointed to the one he meant. "I don't dare have you park in back – Frank knows your car! – but we can see anyone that comes to that back area, or leaves."

She nodded, and efficiently parked her vehicle. The two of them settled in for their wait.

##########

Fifty-two minutes later, Joe, who had been slouched down in his seat, idly observing the parking lot, nudged Vanessa, who was leafing through a magazine. "Look," he murmured. "That dark brown car that just turned the corner – it's slowing down."

The two of them watched the car closely. It slowed even more, then turned into the store's parking lot; it sped across the empty space and disappeared behind the store. It didn't return.

"That's our quarry," Joe noted, writing busily in a small notebook. "I got the license plate number."

"It looked like there were two people in it," Vanessa remarked. "Two men – bundled up!"

"Now keep an eye out for Frank." Joe slouched down even further. "And try to look inconspicuous, Van!" he added with a grin. "I don't think he's got a clue about me knowing what's going on, but let's not take unnecessary chances!" Vanessa sighed, but obediently slid downward in her seat, scrunching her long legs beneath the steering wheel.

Five minutes ticked by – and then Vanessa reached out and touched Joe's arm. "There—" she breathed. "The van!" They watched as Frank drove into the parking lot, then circled the building as the brown car had done, and disappeared from view.

Frank parked the van, turned off the engine, and got out. He noted the presence of the dark brown car, recognizing the vehicle that had arrived to take Megan away two days before. He leaned against the van's side, waiting – outwardly calm, but inside his heart was racing frantically, and his breathing was uneven and rapid.

The doors of the car opened, and two men stepped out…men dressed in heavy coats, with ski masks covering their heads. Although half the people on the streets of Bayport were wearing just such articles of clothing, due to the bitterly cold weather, Frank thought these two looked particularly sinister. They walked toward the van, and he waited tensely.

One of the masked figures spoke. "You brought them?" Frank thought the voice sounded like the "policeman" who had participated in Megan's kidnapping.

"Yes." The elder Hardy boy snapped the word out, and shut his mouth tightly.

"Hand it over." The second man stepped forward, holding out his hand. Frank reached into his pocket, and pulled out the folded papers.

"Here." Frank showed them, but didn't extend his arm, hoping to entice the man closer. _If I could just get the jump on him…._ But the man jerked his head at his partner, who stepped behind Frank.

"Don't get any cute ideas, kid!" snarled the second man. "Just give him the papers."

Frank reluctantly handed them over, and was about to step back when he felt his arm seized. _It's a trick! They're going to take me too!_ he thought, and began to struggle frantically against the restraining hands.

"Just something to remember us by, kid," the voice growled near his ear. "And to remind you that we mean business."

Frank attempted to twist away one more time – and as he did so, he glimpsed a descending arm, from the corner of his eye. Something impacted the back of his head with terrible force; pain exploded through his skull…and Frank Hardy crumpled to the snowy pavement, unconscious.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2000, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give all credit for the plot, and heartfelt thanks.

Thank you to all those nice people who have left reviews!

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 9

Joe and Vanessa watched tensely as the Hardys' black van disappeared around the corner of the supermarket building. They waited in silence, nearly holding their breaths, as the seconds ticked by.

"Why don't they come out?" Vanessa whispered, at last, without taking her eyes from the scene.

Joe shook his head, although he knew Vanessa wasn't looking at him. "I don't know. Frank's had plenty of time to deliver the goods…wait!" His hand shot out and gripped Vanessa's. "Look! There's their car—" He watched as the brown car slowly drove around the corner and across the parking lot. "Van, we need to follow them!"

"What about Frank?" she asked. "Shouldn't we check and make sure he's okay?"

Joe's teeth snapped together. "Darn! You're right – but this is too good an opportunity to pass up!"

Vanessa turned on the motor. "Go on, you see about Frank. I'll tail these guys." As Joe stared at her, dumbfounded, she unsnapped his seat belt and gave him a push. "Go on, Joe, or I'll lose them!"

"Okay, okay – but stay back far enough so that they don't spot you." Joe opened his door and got out. "And Van – keep in touch. You've got your phone?"

She nodded. "Yes – now let me go, Joe!"

He shut the door and stepped back, and the little Wrangler accelerated smoothly away from the curb as Vanessa pursued her quarry. Joe turned, and began walking across the parking lot, hoping he would see Frank coming toward him momentarily.

 _He's going to have a fit if he sees me, though!_ Joe thought. He suddenly realized that if Frank left, he would lose his ride, and quickened his footsteps. He had no desire to walk home in the bitter cold. Joe rounded the corner of the building – and immediately spotted the dark figure sprawled on the snow.

"No!" he gasped, and broke into a run.

Slipping and sliding in the snow, Joe hurried to kneel beside his brother. Frank was lying half on his side; his face was very pale, but he was breathing regularly, and when Joe felt for his pulse, he found it strong and steady. Very gently, the younger Hardy ran his fingers through Frank's dark hair, checking for possible blood. At the touch, light as it was, Frank stirred and moaned softly.

"Easy, Frank." Joe looked at his fingers; no blood. He felt in his coat pocket for his unworn stocking cap, and carefully slipped it beneath Frank's head so that his face was no longer resting on the snow.

"Ohhhh…." Frank's eyelids fluttered momentarily, and he groaned again.

"Easy now," Joe repeated. "You'll be all right."

Frank slowly opened his eyes. He blinked, staring straight ahead, then attempted to turn his head. "Ohhhh – ouch!" He started to raise a hand to his head, but let it drop limply.

"It's okay Frank, just relax." Joe kept his voice as calm and soothing as possible.

"Wha—what happened?" Frank murmured. Recollection set in: "Those guys – one hit me…."

"Yeah, you took a pretty good whack." Again Joe probed the back of Frank's skull; this time he felt a lump starting to rise. Digging in a pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and filled it with a handful of snow; very gently he applied the makeshift compress to the swelling.

Frank winced and blinked again. "Joe? What're you doing here?" he gasped, suddenly realizing who was leaning over him.

"Picking up the pieces, evidently," Joe responded with a slight smile.

"You – you can't be here! How did you get here?" Frank struggled to sit up, his eyes now frantic with fear as well as dazed.

"Whoa now, it's all right…." Joe tried to hold him still. "Go easy, pal; you're not quite all here yet."

Frank clutched at his head with one hand and at Joe with the other. "How did you find me? Did you follow me here?" he demanded, panic-stricken, then groaned, and allowed Joe to ease him back down.

"I didn't follow you, Frank…" Joe hesitated a beat, then decided to continue with the whole truth. "I was here before you were."

"Before – but how—"

"Frank, listen to me…and don't lose it, okay? I know what's going on. I listened to the tape that was in the van – and I heard the phone call this morning."

"No! You can't! They'll kill her! They said if I told anyone, they'd kill Megan!" Frank once more pulled himself to a sitting position and seized Joe's arm in an iron grip. "They'll kill her!"

"It's okay, Frank, it's okay! Relax, it's all right." Joe carefully pried Frank's fingers loose. _This is getting ridiculous! Between Vanessa and Frank, I'm gonna have bruises on this arm for weeks!_ "Nobody saw me; they left before I found you. Give me a  little credit, huh?" He picked up the abandoned snow compress and handed it to his brother. "Hold this against that bump," he added, guiding Frank's hand to his head.

"I wanted to follow them – to find where they have the girls…." Frank mumbled, bringing up his knees and letting his head rest upon them. "I've got to find them!" He turned his head suddenly, and shot Joe a suspicious if groggy look. "How did you find out?"

"You left the tape in the van," Joe repeated gently. "And – um – I bugged the phone system in the house, after I found out what was going on."

Frank blinked owlishly at his younger brother. "Dad's going to kill you," he muttered, and let his head sink back onto his knees.

 _He's going to kill_ _me_ _? What will he do to_ _you_ _?_ "Come on, we need to get you home – unless you want me to take you to the hospital. Two knocks on the head in three days is about two too many! You may have a concussion."

"I wanted to follow them…." Frank repeated dully, making no attempt to get to his feet. "Got to find where—"

His words were interrupted by the soft chirping of Joe's cell phone. With a somewhat guilty glance in Frank's direction, Joe took it from his pocket and flipped it open.

"Yeah? Hi, hon…where?….Really? No, don't get any closer. They already have Callie and Megan; I don't want to risk you too….okay, keep in touch! Bye."

Joe closed the phone and met Frank's accusing gaze. "Who were you talking to?" the elder Hardy gritted.

"Vanessa," Joe admitted. "She knows about this too, Frank."

"Vanessa knows?" Frank nearly shrieked the words. "What did you do, Joe, take out an ad in the paper? Who else is in on this?" He dropped the cold compress and struggled to his feet, swaying dizzily.

Joe quickly rose too, and steadied his brother. "Listen, she's helping! She was able to follow those guys! They wouldn't be suspicious of her Wrangler, Frank; she'll be able to find out where Megan and Callie are!"

Frank stared at him a moment, then nodded and relaxed. "Okay…okay." Suddenly, he began to shiver. "I don't – feel so good," he admitted, and leaned against Joe's shoulder.

"Come on." Joe made a hasty grab for his hat and handkerchief, then piloted Frank toward the van. "It's not far to the van; you can make it…just a few more steps…." Attaining his goal, Joe helped his brother into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt. "Let's get you home, right now."

Fifteen minutes later Joe parked the van in their driveway, and the boys got out. The short ride had done Frank some good; he had stopped shivering, and was fairly steady on his feet, but Joe stayed watchfully at his elbow.

"Dad's home," Joe commented as they made their way to the back door. "Looks like Mom's still out, though."

The boys went into the house, removed their jackets, and started toward the stairs, but they were stopped by Fenton's emergence from his study.

"Frank, Joe! How long have you two been gone?" Their father was scowling blackly.

They exchanged glances. "Um – I left at 1:45, with Vanessa," Joe answered.

"I left about 2:30," Frank chimed in. "What's wrong, Dad?"

"What's wrong is that someone apparently entered the house while we were all out – and went through the security plans I've been working on!" Fenton snapped. He re-entered the den and seated himself behind the desk; Joe and Frank followed him in. "Did you set the alarm when you left, Frank?"

"N-no, I don't think so… " Frank stammered. "I didn't know when Mom was going to be back, so I didn't turn it on."

"How can you tell someone went through the stuff, Dad?" Joe asked, glancing surreptitiously at Frank. "Is something missing?"

"Nothing's missing in the file, but the pages are out of order," his father replied. "And when I started checking for other signs of something amiss, I noticed that one of the phone-tapping devices is gone."

Again Frank and Joe exchanged somewhat guilty glances; luckily Fenton was looking down at the file folders on his desk and didn't see them.

"This is a terrible breach of security!" Mr. Hardy exclaimed then. "Whoever managed to get in here and do this is going to have the FBI down on his neck – not to mention the Secret Service, possibly the CIA, the other foreign powers' heads of security – and me!" He quickly leafed through a folder, located a list of names and telephone numbers, and lifted the receiver of the phone. "I'd better call in and report this…."

He had dialed several digits when Frank stepped forward and depressed the button to disconnect the call. Mr. Hardy looked up at his elder son with an extremely annoyed expression.

"You had better have an explanation for that, Frank," he said curtly.

"I do, Dad." Frank bit his lip a moment, then continued. "You don't need to start looking for someone who broke in here. No one broke in… I'm the one who took the plans and copied them."

Fenton stared at him in total disbelief. "You did what?" he snarled. "Is this some sort of joke, Frank? Because if it is, I want you to know that I don't consider it the least bit humorous!"

"It isn't a joke," Frank whispered miserably.

"Dammit, messing around with these plans is putting both national and international security in jeopardy! Not to mention international relations….What in the world possessed you to do something like this?" Fenton bellowed, leaping to his feet.

"Dad, I had a good reason," Frank pleaded. "Listen to me, please, you have to listen—"

"I don't believe there's any reason good enough for me to condone this sort of behavior!" his father cut him short. "You know better—"

"They're going to kill Megan!" Frank screamed at him desperately. "And Callie! Dad, someone has Callie Shaw and Megan – and they said if I didn't get them the security plans for this conference, they'd shoot them!"

Fenton froze, then slowly sat down in his desk chair, without taking his eyes from his son's frantic face. "Say what?"

"Listen—" Frank began to explain the situation, beginning with the strange phone call he had received on Saturday night. As Frank talked, the anger smoothed from Fenton's face, although he still looked unhappy. "…and so I took a copy of them – I thought I got the pages back where they'd come from! – and I delivered them this afternoon," Frank finished his story, and stared down at the floor.

"You spoke to the girls?" Mr. Hardy asked quietly.

"I heard Callie's voice on the tape," Frank responded, still not looking up. "I talked to Megan."

"I wish you'd come to me with this, son," Fenton sighed. "You've caused some damage – not irreparable damage, I hope; we can work through this – I hope – but damage, nevertheless. At the very least there will have to be some changes made quickly. Worst-case scenario: you may possibly have signed the death warrants of some major political leaders. And you must know, sacrificing the lives of multiple world leaders and jeopardizing relationships between countries outweighs risking two peoples' lives…even Megan's and Callie's."

Frank raised his head and glared bitterly at his father. " 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few – or the one – ' huh? Dad, I'm not Mr. Spock, and this isn't _Star Trek_. What did you expect me to do, just tell them 'go ahead and shoot my ex-girlfriend and my – my'—" His voice faltered on the words, and suddenly he grabbed for the edge of Fenton's desk, his knees buckling and his face drained of all color.

Joe, who had stood silent all through this, caught his older brother and guided him to a chair. "Sit down!" he commanded, then turned toward the astonished and alarmed Fenton. "What he neglected to mention, Dad—" Joe's voice dripped acid as he spoke. "is that those creeps not only took the plans from him, they hit him over the head and knocked him unconscious in the process!" He squatted down next to Frank. "Do you feel nauseated?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"No – no, just dizzy," Frank whispered. "I'm okay, Joe; I'm okay." He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. "I've got a splitting headache, though."

Fenton moved around his desk and joined Joe at Frank's side. "It's all right, son," he murmured, stroking Frank's dark hair very gently. "It'll be all right…." He caught Joe's eye and raised his eyebrows inquiringly, mouthing the word _doctor?_ over Frank's bent head. Joe shook his head, indicating _no._

"I think you ought to lie down for a while," Mr. Hardy suggested, quietly. "We can discuss this further when you've rested a little—"

"I'm all right," Frank insisted. "Dad, you've got to believe me, I wouldn't have done it if I'd had any choice—"

"Dad – think about it for a minute," Joe interrupted. "What would you have done – if it were Mom?"

"You know the answer to that, Joe," his father replied somberly. They did know; Laura _had_ been kidnapped in the past, and Fenton had been willing to try to move heaven and earth – and break any rules – to secure his wife's safety. "I understand, Frank," he added. "We'll work things out somehow." He glanced at Joe. "And how did you manage to get in on all this?"

"I found the tape," Joe explained. "And – um – that phone tap you're missing? I – um – I – it's outside. I'll take it off the line right away," he concluded sheepishly.

Fenton shook his head, unable to completely stifle an unwilling snort of laughter.

"Could you get those tapes – the one left for Frank and the one you made of the phone conversation, Joe?" he asked. "I'd like to hear them."

"Sure – be right back." Joe hurried out to the van to retrieve the cassette, then detoured upstairs to his room, where he grabbed the little tape recorder and its precious contents.

Fenton listened to both tapes with concentration, then shook his head. "I don't recognize the voice," he admitted. "I was hoping there might be something I would pick up; something to ring a bell – but no." He looked at Frank, who was still sitting slumped in his chair, head in his hands. "I understand why you did what you did, Frank. I can't really condone it, but I do understand. Now why don't you go lie down?"

Just as Joe was starting to assist Frank to his feet, the telephone on the desk rang, startling them all. Fenton reached to answer it. "Hardy residence," he said curtly. While his father talked – and from the one-sided conversation, the boys gathered it was someone asking him to take a case – Frank managed to stand, but he still looked very pale, and he leaned against Joe for support.

"Come on, let's go upstairs," Joe urged him in a whisper, but Fenton raised a finger to halt them. When he hung up the phone, there was a smile tugging at his lips.

"That was Callie's father, boys. Enough time has gone by that the police can take official interest in her disappearance – and the Shaws asked me if I could investigate it also. A little ironic, don't you think?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Joe snickered, and even Frank managed a smile.

"I told them I couldn't, due to other factors—" Fenton glanced at the file folders on his desk meaningfully. "but I thought perhaps you two boys might be able to work on it."

Before he could continue, there was another interruption – this time the chirping of the cell phone in Joe's pocket.

"Hello? Hi! What'd you find out?…You did? Yessss!….Okay – okay….got it! Now get outta there and get home, okay? You did great, babe – just swell!"

Blue eyes sparkling in triumph, Joe closed his cell phone and faced his father and brother with a grin. "That was Vanessa – she's got it narrowed down to three or four houses! Oh, yessss, that's my girl!"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give full credit for the plot, and heartfelt thanks.

Thank you to all those who have left comments and feedback; it is highly appreciated.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 10

"She has?" Frank attempted to get to his feet, but Fenton put a firm hand on his shoulder and held him down.

"She followed the car to an older subdivision – on south 22nd Street," Joe continued. "She didn't dare get too close, though, and by the time she turned onto the street, the car was parked and empty. It was parked on the street, not in a driveway; it could be any of several houses."

"Let's go!" Frank pushed himself up again. "There isn't any time to lose!"

Once more his father restrained him. "You aren't going anyplace," he stated firmly. "You're going to stay right here and rest."

"But Dad!" Frank cried, "We've got to find them before something happens! This guy's got the plans now; what if he decides to – to do something – to kill—" He stopped speaking abruptly, and gulped, then buried his face in his hands. "I've got to find Megan…" he whispered. Fenton rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"Dad's right," Joe interposed. "You're in no condition to do a stakeout now. He and I can go—"

"Joe, I want you to stay here and keep an eye on your brother," Fenton said. "I'll go and check out the houses. You have the description of the car?" he asked.

"But Dad!" Now it was Joe who was protesting. "You shouldn't go alone – and I've seen the car; I can identify it. Mom can keep an eye on Frank—"

"Frank needs to rest, and I want you here with him," Fenton repeated. He looked from Frank to Joe, and his dark eyes twinkled a little. "Don't you trust me?" he teased them gently. "I'm not quite over the hill yet; I can still do surveillance without a bodyguard." He looked at the window. "The sun's down; it's going to be almost completely dark by the time I get there."

The boys exchanged glances; Frank's anguished brown eyes meeting Joe's excited blue ones. "Of course we trust you, Dad, "Frank said at last. "But you shouldn't go alone; Joe's right about that." He put his elbow on Fenton's desk and leaned his head on his hand. "Damn this headache!"

"Joe, write down as detailed a description of the car as you can give me—" Fenton began.

"I've got the license number!" Joe interrupted, scribbling hastily on a piece of paper. "And these are the houses Vanessa thinks are possibilities. Of course, they might have parked several houses away, and she doesn't know which side of the street—"

Fenton's lips twitched. "I'll work on it," he assured his son. "Thanks," he added, pocketing the slip of paper Joe handed him. "I'll leave right away. Frank, upstairs – now. Joe, go with him and make sure he lies down and stays put. When your mother gets back, tell her that I've gone out on a case, and I'm not sure how late I'll be."

As he talked, Fenton was busily shoving various items into his pockets; then he unlocked a desk drawer and drew out a shoulder holster and revolver, along with ammunition. "I'll find out what I can and then come back home; don't worry, Frank, you'll get your chance to find the girls." He briefly hugged Joe, then bent over Frank and clasped his shoulders tightly. "Try not to worry, son; I'll be back before you know it."

The boys watched in silence as Fenton departed, then Joe gently nudged Frank's arm. "Come on, let's go upstairs. I'm not sure how to explain your sudden headache to Mom, but I'll think of something."

Frank reluctantly got to his feet. "You don't have to explain it at all," he grumbled. "It's not a crime to have a headache." He massaged his temples, trying to rub away the pain. "Although I think it ought to be illegal to have one like this."

When Frank was stretched out on his bed, a cold compress against the back of his head and extra-strength aspirin inside him, Joe went into his own room to call Vanessa back and hash over the details of her tailing expedition. By the time he finished the conversation, he heard his mother come in, and loped down the stairs to inform her of what was going on.

"…said he's not sure how late he'll be, so don't hold dinner or wait up for him. Frank's lying down for a while; he's got a headache."

Mrs. Hardy looked concerned. "I knew he should have seen a doctor after that skating accident!" she murmured.

"Nah, he's okay," Joe assured her, mentally crossing his fingers. "But he'll probably nap through dinnertime. Don't worry, Mom, I'll eat his share!" He put his arm about his petite mother and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'll eat Dad's, too!"

She laughed, diverted from her worries. "All right, all right. Scram now; out of here, or there won't be anything to eat!"

Joe, highly satisfied with his tactics, went into the family room and switched on the television. But while he sprawled on the couch apparently engrossed in ESPN, his thoughts were following his father across town, to a shabby neighborhood where Megan and Callie were possibly imprisoned.

##########

As darkness closed in, Callie and Megan sat in their armchairs, each cuffed once again. After much cajoling and pleading, they had convinced their guards that allowing them to take showers was in no way going to risk their escaping – as Callie had argued, "do you think I'm likely to break down the door and run out of the house in 10-degree weather in nothing but a wet towel? What kind of an idiot do you think I am?" and had been granted the privilege, following their lunch. Physically, they felt much better; mentally, they were still frightened and despairing.

"At least I feel cleaner," Megan murmured, running her free hand through her tumbled auburn curls. "That's a small improvement, anyway."

Callie nodded. "And I had an extra 24 hours of sitting here," she reminded her companion. "I really felt grungy." She wriggled a little, rubbing her back against the chair, then rubbed at her arm. "I still feel itchy, though."

Megan looked over at the door; she knew the guard stood just on the other side, within earshot. "I wonder what's going to happen now. Frank was supposed to deliver the security plans this afternoon – I suppose he did it, since we're still alive." Her voice quivered. "I don't want to die – but I didn't want him to do that, either."

"Frank wouldn't let us die….Sullivan hasn't been here all day," Callie replied. "Not since this morning. Do you suppose he's in the house and just hasn't come in here, or he's left altogether?" She squirmed and rubbed her leg. "I wonder if there was something in that soap that's making me itch so much…?"

"It doesn't seem to be bothering me," Megan replied. "And my skin's fairly sensitive." She looked critically at the other girl. "You do look sort of flushed. Maybe you're getting a rash."

Callie grimaced. "I don't feel very well, either. Did that clam chowder they fed us for lunch taste all right to you?"

Megan shrugged. "It tasted fine. What can you do to spoil canned clam chowder?"

"Nothing, I suppose." But Callie didn't sound too certain. "Maybe I'm just scared…."

"But you've been through this sort of thing so many times before—" Megan said sarcastically. "Or so you said. 'You get used to this sort of thing when you date a Hardy.' Is that why you broke up with Frank?" Her voice sharpened even more. "Why did you hurt him like that? Breaking up with someone you'd dated for five years by sending them an e-mail?"

Callie looked down at the floor, her cheeks crimsoning. "I've wondered that a thousand times since I did it," she admitted. "It was stupid, and cruel, and I know that now. I'd do it differently if I had it to do over again."

Megan frowned. She wanted Callie to feel remorseful; she didn't want her to wish she could undo the breakup! But it sounded like Callie wasn't heading in that direction….

"Tell me about it, why don't you? It will make the time go faster, maybe," she urged.

Callie wriggled in her chair again, and rubbed her stomach. "Well – you know that Frank and I had agreed that dating other people would be okay – that trying to stay a steady couple while I was so far from Bayport would be sort of silly."

"I understand that – go on."

"When I got to Colorado, I was really lonely at first. When my parents left, I felt like I'd been marooned on a desert island or something…didn't know a soul on campus, except my roommate, whom I'd just met!" She glanced over at Megan, who nodded encouragingly. "They have these freshman activities – sort of silly stuff, but it does serve to get you acquainted with people. The upperclassmen would do things like herding all the freshmen from a dorm out to the parking lot, when it was almost bedtime, for instance, where we'd meet up with the freshmen from a different dorm. And they made us play stupid games, there in the parking lot. Get-acquainted games; you know, like having to pass an orange down a line of people without using your hands; it's held under your chin."

Megan, intrigued in spite of herself, giggled at the thought, and Callie smiled reminiscently. "That's where I met Jonathan. We were trying to pass this orange – and he's six-foot-five. He had to crouch down to get his chin anywhere near mine….we dropped it." she added with a laugh. "After the games were over for the night, he asked my name, and where I was living, and if he could call me the next day. He was a lot of fun." Callie suddenly pulled one knee up, rubbing her leg and grimacing. "I really itch all over," she complained. "And my stomach is starting to hurt!"

"Tell me about Jonathan," Megan requested.

"He called, and we started going around together. He's on the football team, so we didn't have lots of time together, but when we did, he was there for me. And I guess I'm stuck learning about football whether I like it or not. It was sort of nice to go out with someone who didn't have to run off trying to save the world every other week." She smiled a little. "I wanted to have a normal relationship with a guy."

Megan unwillingly returned the smile. "I know what you mean," she admitted. "Frank and Joe do get a little obsessive about it sometimes, don't they?"

"I was wrong to be so blunt, with the e-mail," Callie went on. "I knew it at the time, too. But Frank never once said anything – he just sent me back that oh-so-cool message that I was probably right, and to enjoy my year. He didn't act as if he cared. We haven't corresponded since then. And when I ran into him at the mall, the day after Christmas, he told me about you. He'd mentioned that he'd met someone at school, in his letter," she added, "But he never told me your name, then." She shifted uncomfortably once more, and rubbed her stomach again.

"And not once has Jonathan canceled a date because of a terrorist bombing attack – or a bank robbery – or a kidnapping—" Callie's attempt at a joke fizzled when she said the last words, and sudden tears rolled down her cheeks. "I thought I was through with all that," she whimpered.

Megan felt a stab of contrition. "I'm sorry you got involved in it," she said. "Don't cry, Callie."

"It's not just – I mean, I'm scared, but – my stomach hurts!" Callie's tears flowed freely. "I feel like I did once when I ate crab by accident!"

"Huh?" Megan shook her head uncomprehendingly.

"Megan, call the guard – what's his name, Bob?" Callie twisted in her chair. "I think I'm having an allergic reaction to something!"

Megan obeyed the demand, and immediately the door opened to admit one of the masked guards. "Whassamatter?" he growled.

"She's sick." Megan indicated Callie. "She thinks she's eaten something she's allergic to."

"Was there any chance that crab or shrimp could have been in that soup we had for lunch?" Callie demanded, rubbing frantically at her shoulder.

"I dunno – maybe could have been," Bob replied.

"Well, I'm horribly allergic to shellfish. I break out in hives, and get sick to my stomach – and if it's bad enough, I can't breathe!" Callie squirmed. "I think I want to lie down…."

The guard shuffled over and unlocked the handcuff securing Callie to the chair, then took her arm and escorted her to the bed. She immediately curled into a ball, clutching at her stomach; Bob hovered over her uncertainly, holding the cuff.

"I need to put this back on," he reminded her. Callie ignored him, and began to cry again.

"Are you crazy?" Megan demanded. "Look at her! If you cuff her to the bed, that's tantamount to torture!" She tapped her foot impatiently. "Does she look like she's going to make an escape attempt?"

"Well – no," Bob admitted. "And tanta-what? We're not torturing anybody!" He attached one end of the cuff to the bedpost, but left the other end free. "Hey, kid, are you going to be okay?" he asked Callie.

She shook her head. "No – I think I'm going to be sick," she whimpered, and clapped a hand across her mouth.

The girls couldn't see Bob's face because of the mask, but his voice sounded as if he was feeling a little sick himself. "Oh hell!" he muttered. He grabbed Callie's arm to pull her up from the bed. "You better get into the bathroom, then."

Callie shrieked and yanked her arm from his grip. "Get away from me!" she screamed. "Don't touch me!" She curled into a ball again, moaning.

"I'll take her," Megan offered, "If you'll unlock this." She held up her wrist, indicating the handcuff.

"Hell," the guard growled once more, but he went over to Megan and unlocked her cuff. "Don't you try anything!" he warned her.

The little redhead shot him a poisonous glance. "I have no intention of 'trying anything'," she informed him, going over to the bed. "Come on, Callie, I'll help you."

She put her arm about the other girl, helped her to her feet and guided her toward the bathroom. Callie stumbled in, shutting the door behind her. In a few moments, the unmistakable sound of retching reached the two persons in the bedroom. Megan, leaning against the door, shook her head sympathetically. A bit later, following the sounds of flushing and water running in the sink, Callie emerged, her face pale and damp.

"Are you okay?" Megan asked her anxiously.

"For the moment." Callie shakily made her way back to the bed and lay down. "But I know it's not over yet…." She curled into a tight ball of misery once more. Megan, ignoring Bob, went into the bathroom and ran cold water on a washcloth, then returned to sit beside Callie on the bed and gently sponge her face.

"It'll be all right," she crooned. "You'll be okay…."

##########

An hour passed, then two. Callie had thrown up several more times; in between bouts of vomiting she curled up on the bed in tears, or rubbed frantically at her arms and legs, trying to ease the itching. Megan tried to soothe her, without a great deal of success. Bob, the guard, remained in the room, obviously nervous about the condition of his prisoners. Apparently he was the only one in the house, for no one else came to the room to relieve him, and he didn't dare leave.

Callie suddenly began to breathe heavily. She clutched Megan's hand tightly. "It's so hard – to breathe!" she panted.

"Callie, what can we do to help?" Megan asked her frantically. "Tell Bob; maybe he can get something that will help you."

"Antihistamine," Callie replied between gasps. "It – should be prescription stuff – but even over-the-counter would – would be better than nothing!"

Bob reluctantly approached the bed. "We don't have anything like that here," he said crossly. "Can't you get along without it?"

"Oh – sure!" Callie gasped. "What's a little – oxygen – anyway?"

"Are you ready to face a murder charge?" Megan demanded hotly, staring up at their guard with her beautiful turquoise eyes aflame. "She could die, right here! It's called anaphylactic shock, in case you don't know. A person's throat closes up – Callie can't get any air into her lungs."

Callie took a wheezing breath. "He – doesn't care, Megan!" she gasped.

"That's not true!" Bob protested. "I don't want you to die, kid." He sighed impatiently. "Okay, I'll run to the store and get you something. What is it you need?"

"Any antihistamine, Callie?" Megan asked the blonde. Callie, unable to speak at the moment, nodded her head. "Ask someone for the strongest antihistamine you can get without a prescription," she instructed their guard. "I'll make sure she's still breathing when you get back."

With a panicked backward glance at the bed, Bob exited the room, locking the door behind him, and the girls heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs, then the slamming of a door followed by a car engine starting up.

For a few moments, they were silent. Callie was scarcely breathing, and Megan, too, seemed to be holding her breath. Then Callie raised her head from the pillow.

"It worked," she whispered. Sitting up, she caught Megan in her arms, hugging the smaller girl tightly. "Let's get out of here, right now!"

"You were marvelous!" Megan hissed, returning the hug, then grabbing up her parka and slipping it on. She tossed Callie her coat. "How did you manage to throw up on cue like that?"

Callie grimaced. "It's a dubious talent, I admit. I've been able to do it since I was little – it's a sure-fire way to never be forced to eat Brussels sprouts."

"Do you have any other abilities – like getting through a locked door?" Megan asked softly.

"There are some advantages to dating a Hardy," Callie smiled and pulled her wallet from her coat pocket. She dug out a plastic store credit card and held it up. "I've seen the boys do this – now I'll find out if it's as easy as it looks."

A few moments of jiggling and manipulating resulted in a soft _click_ as the lock released. The girls exchanged smiles of triumph, and Callie opened the door a tiny crack to scan the hallway outside.

"Looks all clear," she breathed, beckoning Megan to follow her.

Tiptoeing, the two made their way down a staircase, and looked for the front door.

"There," Megan pointed, and she and Callie hurried toward it, still trying to listen for any possible pursuit.

Callie reached it first, and turned the knob. "Not even locked!" she hissed, and grabbed Megan's hand. The two of them stepped through the opened door, into the bitterly cold night air. They had taken perhaps three steps when they heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

"Well, girls – going out for a little walk, were we?" a silky bass voice inquired.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give credit for most of the plot, and heartfelt thanks.

Thank you to those kind people who have been leaving commentary and reviews, especially max2013, Cherylann Rivers, and caranath.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 11

Megan and Callie looked at each other in dismay for a long moment…and then turned and re-entered the house, their shoulders slumped and heads drooping. Without speaking, they mounted the stairs, walking quietly back toward their bedroom prison. Behind them, the man they knew as Dan Sullivan kept pace, the cocked pistol pointed unerringly at Megan's back.

Still silently, Megan and Callie returned to their armchairs and sat down; waiting quietly to be re-cuffed. Tears were sliding down Megan's cheeks, but she said nothing, merely stared straight ahead at the wall, as if she were alone in the room. Callie closed her eyes.

"So you thought you could get away…" Sullivan finally broke the silence, as he locked the manacle on Callie's wrist once more. "I don't know how you did it, or what you've done with Bob – but it didn't work, did it? Nice try, ladies, nice try…but it didn't work." He stepped back and surveyed the girls; Callie's eyes were still shut, and Megan stared at the wall. "Care to tell me what it was you did?"

Neither girl responded, and Sullivan's eyes narrowed. "I want to know what you did," he repeated. Stepping closer to Callie, he held his pistol next to her head. "I'll ask you once more."

Callie slitted her eyes open and realized she had no choice. "Allergy to shellfish," she murmured. "He went to get me some medicine for an allergic reaction."

Sullivan emitted a bellow of laughter. "Now that's a new one!" The laughter suddenly died, and he pressed the gun barrel against Callie's head. "Do you suppose you have an allergy to lead, as well as shellfish?"

Megan shifted her gaze from the wall to her companion. "Don't shoot her!" she cried. "Please, you can't – you can't!"

"Oh, but I can—" Sullivan replied. He shifted the gun, pointing it at Callie's legs instead of her head. "but perhaps I don't need to make it fatal. I'm sure we could find out if Ms. Shaw is susceptible to lead poisoning without actually killing her."

"Please, please don't!" Megan begged him, new rivulets of tears slipping down her face.

Sullivan cocked the pistol once again. Callie held her breath, eyes closed, waiting for the impact and pain. Megan stared at them, her eyes blurred by her tears.

The silence was broken by Sullivan's guffaw. "Naw – not yet. Not that you don't deserve it, understand. It's just that I'm not ready for some nosy neighbor to call the cops because they heard gunshots over here!" He let the hammer down and slid his gun back into his pocket. Megan's gulp of relief was clearly audible, and Callie released the breath she had been holding, with a long sigh.

Their captor stepped back and glared at them. His anger was all too evident, even though only his eyes were visible. "You won't get another chance to escape," he muttered.

"You have the plans, don't you?" Megan demanded, elevating her chin slightly, making a brave attempt to appear haughty. "Why can't you let us go now? Wasn't that the bargain? Frank gives you the security plans and you release us?"

"Not yet," Sullivan snarled. "Not yet, you little spitfire! And watch the smart mouth, too!"

At that moment, the door opened and Bob poked his head into the room. He looked somewhat flustered.

"Boss, can you come out here a minute?" He held up a small paper sack toward Callie. "Hey, kid – I got you some antihistamine."

The look Sullivan gave him could have ignited a campfire with its heat. "You damned incompetent! What kind of guard are you, anyway?" he bellowed.

"Boss, come here!" the guard repeated insistently. "I need to talk to you!"

Fuming, Sullivan crossed to the door, exited, and slammed it behind him.

"Do you have any idea how close those two were to getting away?" Sullivan demanded in a harsh whisper. "I caught them outside, you damned idiot!"

"Boss, the blonde really was sick! I swear she was!"

"You moron! If she'd had an allergic reaction, it would have showed up within an hour after she ate the stuff, not five hours later! They tricked you, stupid!"

"Boss, she puked, over and over! She was really sick, I tell you!"

"Ever hear of bulimia?" Sullivan scoffed. "Girls can make themselves puke without half trying!" He crossed his arms and stared at his underling. "I ought to fire you…I would fire you, if I had a choice at this point."

"Boss, listen – the reason I called you out here….there's someone snooping around outside. I saw him when I came back."

"Someone – what do you mean? Why the hell didn't you tell me that right away?" Sullivan shouted in fury. "You wasted all this time talking about the Shaw girl – what's this person look like, and where'd you see him?"

"I just saw a figure – dark clothes, tall – slide into the bushes beside the house, when I pulled up in the car."

"I thought you said the Hardy kid was knocked out this afternoon, so he couldn't follow Rocco and Sid back to the house?"

"That's what Sid told me!' Bob defended himself. "He said there'd be no way Frank Hardy could follow them back here! He slugged him hard enough to keep him out for quite a while."

"Well, somebody must have! The neighbors aren't in the habit of sneaking around in the bushes. It's gotta be Frank Hardy!" Sullivan reached into his pocket for his gun, and headed for the stairs, only to stop short, glaring in exasperation at his underling. "Well? Come on!"

##########

The evening hours passed uneventfully. Joe and Laura had eaten dinner – Frank had drowsily declined Laura's offer of food – and Joe helped his mother clear the table and load the dishwasher. Laura then settled down with a cup of tea and a book, and Joe went upstairs to check on his brother.

Frank was deeply asleep now; the worry lines in his face smoothed away. Joe slid a cautious hand beneath his head, and winced sympathetically when he felt the swelling under his fingertips. _Ouch! That spot's going to be sore for a few days…._ As Joe removed his hand, Frank stirred and muttered a few words, but did not awaken completely.

Joe went into his own room, feeling decidedly unsettled. He glanced at the bedside clock radio, mentally calculating the time his father had been gone. _Eight o'clock…Dad's had plenty of time to reconnoiter that street. Heck, he could have_ _mapped_ _every square inch of it by now! He must have decided to settle down for a stakeout._ Joe shut his bedroom door to the hallway, and began to pace, absentmindedly. _There weren't that many places to check out, Vanessa said…._ Joe halted, glancing toward his telephone, then decided he'd pestered Vanessa enough for one day. _I sure hope nothing's happened to Dad!…Nah, what could happen? He's the best there is in the business – and he said it himself: he's able to do surveillance without help!_ The younger Hardy resumed his pacing, trying to organize his jumbled thoughts. _He's just had to stay out of sight longer than he thought he would; that's all!…It's so cold, though…could something have happened to him because of the cold?_

Joe halted again, visualizing his father crouched in the cold, watching a house, slowly succumbing to hypothermia in the frigid night. With an impatient gesture he dismissed the thought and flung himself into the desk chair. He picked up a magazine from the welter of paper on his desk and began to leaf aimlessly through it. Every few minutes, he glanced at his wristwatch.

At eleven o'clock, after checking on Frank again and finding him still sound asleep, Joe wandered downstairs. Laura was watching the late news on television, and Joe plopped into one of the recliners to join her. Local news…world events (Joe listened avidly to the comments regarding the upcoming conference scheduled for the end of the week)…amusing features…sports…weather (it was predicted that the cold snap could moderate in the Bayport area within the next day or two, but the nighttime temperature would possibly dip to 15 below zero tonight, and two to three more inches of snow were expected to fall before morning). Finally it ended, and Laura rose to her feet.

"I'm going to bed, honey," she said. "Are you going to stay up for a while yet?"

"Yeah – maybe there's a late movie on, or something…." Joe reached for the TV guide.

"How is Frank?" his mother inquired, returning from the kitchen where she had taken her teacup. "Have you checked on him recently?"

"Right before I came down – he's fast asleep, Mom; don't worry about him. I promise, he'll be fine in the morning!" Joe grinned at her reassuringly. "He's better off sleeping anyway – remember how upset he's been lately?" he added, hoping to lead Laura's attention back to the supposed quarrel Frank and Megan had had.

"You're right; I'd forgotten about that," his mother replied. "All right, honey, see you in the morning." She kissed Joe and went upstairs, snapping off the extra lights as she did so.

Alone, Joe channel-surfed for a bit, finally settling on an old action-adventure movie he'd seen many times before. For a while he amused himself by anticipating the dialogue, but eventually the entertainment palled, and he switched off the set. _Dad should've been home by now…should have been home, or at least called….I'm not one for premonitions, but this doesn't feel right… I wish he'd let me go with him – Frank didn't need anybody looking after him! Dad just used that as an excuse to make me stay home._

He looked at the clock again. Twelve _-_ forty _. Even if Dad's in his car, he's gonna freeze his – oh, hell!_ _Why_ _hasn't he come home?_ Joe got to his feet, switched the lamp off and headed upstairs, too restless to sit still any longer. He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and got into sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but he didn't get in bed. He stared into the icy night through the frost-encrusted window, wondering what was going on with his father. _It's starting to snow again…Dad, where are you? How could you have let something happen to you?_

##########

 _Megan!_ _Megan!_ _Callie? No, don't – don't hurt them! I gave you the plans! You said you'd let them go! You told me if I got you the plans, you'd let them go! Noooooooo!_

Gasping, Frank jerked awake from a nightmare filled with gray nothingness, where a faceless enemy retreated, dragging Megan and Callie with him, holding a gun to Megan's temple as she screamed and struggled to get away. _Oh man…that was a bad one!_ He disentangled himself from the twisted blankets and sat up, trying to get his breathing under control. He glanced at the bedside clock, numbers glowing luminescent in the darkness of his room. _Almost four o'clock in the morning…._

Soft sounds came from the bathroom: Joe's footsteps padding across the floor. Frank reached to the lamp beside his bed and turned it on the lowest setting. "Joe?"

In a few seconds, Joe was sitting on the edge of his bed. "You okay, pal? I heard you yelling a minute ago – bad dream?"

"Yeah." Frank shuddered at the memory. "But I don't want to talk about it." He squinted at his younger brother in the dim light. Joe's face was drawn, dark crescents showed under his eyes, and his blonde hair tousled as if he'd been running his fingers through it. "Haven't you been to bed, you idiot?" Frank demanded.

"No – Frank, how are you feeling now? Your head, I mean." Joe looked at him searchingly.

"It's okay." Frank tentatively felt the bump on the back of his skull. "It hurts to touch, but the headache's gone. Why?"

"Because I think we've got a problem," Joe said somberly. "Dad's not home yet. He's been gone for almost 12 hours now. He hasn't called, either." He stared into his older brother's eyes. "Frank, I'm scared – what if he's been captured?" 


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit for the plot, and sincere thanks.

Thank you to all you nice people who have left commentary and reviews!

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 12

Frank stared at Joe. "Dad's not home?" he whispered. "That's not good, Joe."

"I know it's not good!" Joe snapped. "I can't think of one reason for him not coming home that doesn't involve something bad happening to him! I knew he shouldn't have gone alone!"

Frank pushed back the covers and got out of bed. "We'd better go look for him. I'll get some clothes on—"

"Whoa!" Joe grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "It's not going to do any good to go storming over there in the dark, with no idea of what's happened." He sighed. "We'll have to wait until it's light, anyway."

Frank sat down beside Joe. "Little brother, you're beginning to sound more like me every day – are you feeling okay?" he teased gently. "Maybe you're coming down with something…."

Joe punched him lightly. "Very funny. Okay, we need to have a plan before we move in. Put that so-called logical mind of yours to work, will you?" He leaned forward, resting his haggard face in his hands. "I've thought until my mind's gone numb."

"And you haven't had any sleep," Frank commented, ignoring the fact that he himself had done the same thing the previous two nights. "You're too tired to concentrate." Frank slid back under his covers, then reached for the blanket folded across the foot of the bed and shoved it toward Joe. "Wrap up in this; you're shivering. Don't you have any sense? – the heat's turned down for the night!" He waited until Joe had obeyed, then leaned back against the headboard, thinking of and discarding possible courses of action. One in particular kept surfacing. _What a long shot that would be…we'd need to let the whole gang in on it, though. Would that be safe, or put Callie and Megan in more danger than ever? Megan – and Callie – and possibly Dad._ "See what you think of this…."

##########

Callie and Megan hadn't been allowed to go to bed that night – or perhaps it was simply that no one had thought about it. Since Dan Sullivan had left the room so abruptly, the girls had been left completely alone, each sitting cuffed to her chair. Despite their peril, both of them were growing sleepy.

Callie was especially tired from her lengthy performance – and after all, she reasoned, the vomiting had been real! She had a good excuse to be tired! She yawned deeply, then glanced toward Megan, who gave her a weary smile.

"I feel the same way, Megan admitted. "Terribly sleepy…absolutely out on my feet." She chuckled grimly, indicating their seated positions. "So to speak."

"I wonder what happened to Bob? And why Sullivan left and didn't come back?"

"I'm glad he didn't," Megan said. "He's like some sort of reptile – he gives me the creeps."

"I don't want him back either, but I'd like to know what's happened." Callie yawned again, and let her head rest against the back of the chair. "Bob was upset about more than just us tricking him."

"I still can't get over the job you did with that," Megan said with admiration. "You nearly had me convinced, let alone Bob!"

"I did some drama in high school…and I really am allergic to some sorts of nuts. It just took some remembering how I felt the last time I ate almonds, and then going from there!" She sighed. "All that talented performance – and it didn't accomplish a thing…."

Megan nodded wearily and closed her eyes. The room became very silent, as both girls dozed.

The click of an opening door jerked them back to wakefulness, blinking and rubbing their tired eyes. They stared, first in curiosity, then with growing horror, as two figures entered the room. One was Sullivan, his gun firmly in hand. He was shoving another man before him – a tall man, dressed in heavy outerwear, a muffler concealing much of his face, his hat pulled low over his eyes – but both girls gasped in recognition. The man was Fenton Hardy!

"Have a seat, Mr. Hardy." Sullivan escorted the detective to a chair, waited with exaggerated politeness while he removed his coat, hat, and scarf. "Sit," he repeated with emphasis, "and stay put. Move an inch, and somebody takes a bullet. Maybe you, maybe one of them." He jerked his head toward Callie and Megan, while backing toward a chest of drawers. Fenton remained still, his eyes following every move Sullivan made.

Getting another set of manacles from a drawer – Megan had a sudden, irrelevant thought: _How many pairs of those things does he_ _have_ _, anyway? –_ Sullivan cuffed Fenton to his chair in the same manner the girls were restrained, then stepped back and surveyed his handiwork.

"Well, well," he gloated, after a moment or two. "The great Fenton Hardy – caught skulking in the bushes, like a common criminal. Whatever brought you to this neighborhood, Mr. Hardy?"

Fenton made no reply; he remained grimly silent, his dark eyes fixed on his captor.

"Your son doesn't follow instructions very well, it seems," Sullivan continued. "He was ordered not to tell anyone about this, on pain of death – not his death, mind you – theirs." Again he indicated the girls. "Maybe he didn't care about that?"

"He told no one," Mr. Hardy grated, goaded into answering Sullivan's taunt. "He followed your instructions exactly as he was told to do."

"Oh? Then you just happened to be here? A coincidence, perhaps?" Tiring of the game, Sullivan glared at the detective. "What am I going to do with you, Mr. Hardy? Having you here was not part of my plans. You've disrupted things considerably."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that… You must know that if I suddenly disappear, the whole conference will be shifted to a different locale; the security plans you got from Frank will be scrapped, something entirely different will be drawn up. Holding us hostage doesn't do you any good at all."

"I realize that," Sullivan growled, then stamped across the room and slammed out the door.

Fenton turned to Callie and Megan. "Are you two all right?" he inquired urgently. "You haven't been hurt, have you?"

Callie replied. "We haven't been hurt…I'm okay, I guess." She smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hardy, for causing all this trouble."

"You didn't cause it, Callie," Fenton replied kindly. He turned his gaze to Megan. "Megan, are you all right?"

She nodded. "Is Frank – is he—?"

"Worried sick? Yes. But hanging on." Fenton smiled a little. "Joe's trying to keep him sane."

"Joe's keeping Frank sane? Now there's a switch!" Callie said, with an involuntary giggle.

"Joe's grown up a little, Callie," Mr. Hardy remarked. "You might be surprised at the change."

"Maybe so," Callie admitted, "but it still sounds odd." She shifted, attempting to find a more comfortable position. "This whole situation is odd."

Megan was still watching Fenton. "Mr. Hardy," she asked tentatively, "Frank didn't tell you about this, did he? How did you find out?"

He smiled at her. "No, he didn't tell anyone anything. He wouldn't have jeopardized you girls' lives. But he underestimated Joe's tenacity. Joe knew something was wrong, and he ferreted until he found out what it was."

"What do you think is going to happen? What are they going to do to us?" Megan asked him.

"I don't know, Megan," he answered. "But what I said to him – what's he called? Sullivan? – is true. Keeping me prisoner ruins all his plans for disrupting that conference." Mr. Hardy turned toward Callie. "Callie, your parents are very worried about you, by the way. The police have been called in to search for you."

Megan leaned her head back against the chair and hot tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids. "My mother doesn't even know…." she whispered.

The abrupt opening of the door startled the three captives. Sullivan strode into the room, again brandishing his gun. "I've decided what to do with you," he announced. "Hardy, you're going to remain a guest for just a short while – just long enough for me to shift these nice young ladies to a different location. And I want to remind you of something: I didn't have any trouble getting information on them or capturing them. I can do the same thing with your sons – or your wife. So you aren't going to cause me any trouble, once you're out of here – because their lives are my security."

Callie spoke without thinking. "Your information wasn't so great!" she snapped. "You didn't know Frank and I weren't a couple anymore – you'd never have even known about Megan if I hadn't—" Suddenly realizing what she was saying, Callie put her free hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Megan stared at her, shocked. Fenton's lips twitched – and Sullivan roared with maniacal laughter.

##########

"…will it work, do you think?"

Joe stared at his older brother, blue eyes wide with consternation. "You're crazy! That knock on the head must have screwed up your brain! Just walk up to the door and ask to be let inside?"

"I realize I can't do it, Joe," Frank said patiently, "and you can't either. We're going to need help with this." He glanced at the clock, which read a discouraging 4:35. "It's too early to call anyone."

Joe nodded. Suddenly he felt very tired. "I hate all this waiting around." He yawned and shivered.

Frank took a long assessing look at his younger brother. "You need to get some sleep, kid. You're not going to be good for anything at all later today if you're a zombie."

Joe opened his eyes and returned the look. "When was the last time you ate anything?" he countered. "Yesterday at breakfast?"

"Hey, I had lunch!" Frank defended himself. "Just – not a lot…."

"I'll make you a deal," Joe proposed. "I'll grab a nap if you go down and get something to eat. Right now, this minute."

Frank gave him a mutinous stare, but finally shrugged and nodded. "Okay," he conceded, and pushed back the bedclothes. "Crawl in; no sense in messing up both the beds." While Joe got into bed, Frank donned his bathrobe and a pair of heavy socks. "I'll be back in a few minutes – and you'd better be asleep!" With that parting shot, Frank quietly exited his bedroom and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, hoping he could find something to eat without waking Laura in the process.

##########

At seven-thirty, Frank stepped back into his bedroom, having eaten, napped a bit more (on top of Joe's bed), showered, shaved, and dressed. Joe was sound asleep, curled into a ball beneath the blankets. _Poor kid,_ Frank thought, gazing down at his slumbering brother. _I've put him through a lot in the last day or two… Usually, I'm the one looking out for him, taking care of him. Now the situation's been reversed; he's been the one looking out for_ _me_ _. And he's been doing a pretty good job of it, too!_ Reluctantly, he put a hand on Joe's shoulder and shook it gently.

"Joe? Wake up. We've got to get going, little brother."

Joe blinked his eyes open, turned his head and focused on Frank's face, then sat up. "Okay, I'm awake." He looked at the sunlight coming in through the window, then glanced at the clock. "Why did you let me sleep so long?" he complained, then finished his sentence with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"We can't start calling people much earlier than this," Frank reminded him. "And you needed the sleep."

Grumbling at Frank's logic, Joe got out of bed. "I'll get dressed," he sighed. "…back in a minute." He disappeared into the bathroom, heading for his own room. Frank hastily smoothed his bed – _there, it looks sort of made!_ – and settled at his desk, reaching for the phone.

By the time Joe returned, Frank was talking to Tony Prito. "…I realize it's early, but we need your help, Tone. It's something pretty serious – I'd rather not explain it all over the phone. Can you be here in an hour?….You can? Great! See you then." Frank ended the call and turned to grin at his brother. "One down, five to go." He glanced at the list of telephone numbers on his desk and began punching buttons. "I'll let you call Vanessa yourself – Hello, Phil? Hey, it's Frank. Did I wake you up?….Sorry. Listen, we need a favor – are you free today?"

##########

By eight-thirty, Tony, Phil, Chet, Biff and Vanessa were gathered in the Hardys' kitchen. Laura had smilingly offered them juice, coffee and cinnamon toast, then announced she was going for an early-morning walk, and departed. Only Frank and Joe realized that anything was wrong; their mother hid her anxiety over her husband's extended absence well. But she hugged them both tightly before she left, looking searchingly into their eyes. Laura was no fool; she knew her boys were planning something.

Frank started the explanation to the others; of course Vanessa already knew the situation. She sat quietly sipping her coffee, watching reactions and clasping Joe's hand. As was his habit, Frank took it step by step, starting with his accidental meeting with Callie at the mall. He got as far as Megan's kidnapping before his voice trembled and broke, and he was unable to continue. Joe reached over and gripped his older brother's shoulder comfortingly, then took up the story.

"…and Dad never came home last night," Joe concluded, at last. "We figure that whoever has Megan and Callie now also has Dad. We've got to try to find them – before something else happens."

"Do you think they'll call you again, with more instructions?" Biff asked intently.

Frank shook his head. "What else could they ask for? I don't have anything to do with the security arrangements for the conference. Dad's the only one that had any contact with the government agencies and the other countries' security people." He paused, considering. "Although I suppose they could be forcing him to do something, holding Megan's and Callie's lives over his head…." At that thought, the elder Hardy's face blanched, and he closed his eyes tightly for a moment.

"Hang in there, Frank; it'll be okay," Tony murmured.

"What do you want us to do?" Phil, ever the practical one, asked.

"Frank's got this harebrained scheme in mind," Joe replied. "He wants us to check out the houses, hoping to spot something suspicious…by going door-to-door with some excuse or other."

"It's not harebrained!" Frank exclaimed. "I realize that neither Joe nor I can do it; that's why we called you guys in! There can't be more than three or four houses on either side of the street that would fall into the 'suspicious' category. If you can come up with some sort of reason to knock on the doors and ask for admittance, or an interview, or something – we have a good chance of narrowing it down even more."

A minute or two of silence followed, as the teens thought over the plan. Finally Vanessa spoke.

"It should work. We can go with two different options. One, we can be doing a school report on something – um, let's see…how about a survey to find out how many people take down their Christmas trees right after Christmas, or wait until after New Year's, or something like that?"

She was greeted with a burst of laughter from nearly all the boys. "Oh come on, Van, that's silly!" Chet scoffed.

"I've been asked to do reports on sillier topics than that!" she shot back. Chet shrugged, and conceded her point with a nod, then took a bite of his toast.

"The other option," she continued then, "is to have a breakdown – car trouble. We can either ask to use a telephone, to call a tow truck, or Triple-A, or something, or I can ask to use the restroom while we're waiting…because it's so cold, you understand," she concluded with a grin. "If I'm let inside – it's a probability that that's not the house we're looking for; at any rate, I'd have the chance to look around."

"You're nuts!" Joe expostulated. "These people have Callie, Megan, and probably our dad – and now you're figuring on blithely walking into the house too?" He scowled blackly at his girlfriend. "There's no way I'm letting you do something that dangerous!"

"Joe, it has to be me," Vanessa replied. "At least for the bathroom ploy." Joe flushed, but still looked rebellious, and shook his head defiantly.

"All right, then go with the report angle," Phil said soothingly, hoping to avert an argument between Vanessa and Joe. "Tony and I can go with Vanessa on one side of the street, and Biff and Chet can work the other side. We can keep you two informed with the cell phones."

"And we'll be right around the corner, just out of sight," Frank answered. "If anything looks at all out of kilter, get out fast, and then call us."

"Okay, it's settled then—" Phil began, when the telephone rang, interrupting his words.

The Hardys glanced at each other, letting the phone ring again. Finally Joe picked it up.

"Hardy residence. Oh, morning, Con."

Six breaths of relief sounded in the kitchen as Joe identified the caller.

"…yeah, he's here. Hold on a second." Joe extended the telephone toward his brother. "It's Con Riley," he repeated. "Wants to talk to you."

Frank tilted an inquiring dark brow as he took the phone. "Con? This is Frank….oh, yes, I heard. They called Dad about it….No – no, I haven't. The only time I saw her all of Christmas break was the day after Christmas."

Joe, watching intently, saw Frank's color rise; although the elder Hardy's voice remained cool and calm, he was turning redder with each passing moment.

"….Dad asked us to keep an eye out; we'll be glad to, Con. If we find out anything for sure, we'll let you know….Okay, that's all right. Sorry I couldn't help more."

Frank replaced the phone in its stand, and turned to the others, a wry smile quirking one corner of his mouth. "I think we've just been given official sanction to look for Callie Shaw, group!" He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I don't like having to lie to Con, though."

"You didn't lie," Tony reminded him. "You really haven't seen Callie."

"Oh, I know. It was the literal truth – but I still feel bad about it."

"Come on, let's go!" Joe urged him impatiently. "Let's get this show on the road!"

Glances sped about the circle, then the seven rose to their feet and donned coats, hats and gloves. Joe scribbled a hasty note to their mother, then closed and locked the back door as he exited last. The teens piled into their cars and set off, with the Hardy van leading the way.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give credit for most of the plot, and heartfelt thanks.

Thank you to everyone who has been so kind as to leave commentary and feedback.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 13

"I hate this!" Joe burst out. He drummed his gloved fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. "I wish Vanessa hadn't come up with that crazy idea about wanting to use the bathroom; she doesn't have any business walking into some loony-tune's house where she might end up held hostage too!" He turned to glare at Frank, seated in the passenger seat. "It's your fault; you thought up the idea in the first place!"

Frank returned the glare. "My fault? Oh thanks, little brother, that makes me feel just great! When all the kids are out there tramping up and down the street, calling attention to themselves – maybe putting Dad and Megan and Callie into even more danger, if any of them are recognized as being associated with us…."

For a few seconds the brothers stared at each other hotly – and then Frank suddenly broke eye contact, put his head back and began to laugh softly.

"Listen to us, would you? We don't do too well sitting on the sidelines while someone else does the investigative work, do we?"

Joe's mouth curved into a smile that quickly became a self-deprecating grin. "I guess you're right. We do this sort of thing all the time – never think twice about the danger—"

"That's not true, I think about the danger!" Frank interposed.

Joe snorted derisively, and continued, "—but when it's Vanessa and Biff and Tony and the others doing it, we freak out." He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I wonder why?"

Frank considered it a moment, then replied, "It's because we don't have any control over what happens. We can't do anything about it, one way or another." He met Joe's eyes. "God, Joe, I'm so scared….what if we've done something that will trigger the situation – the wrong way?"

Approaching the first house on the block, Tony, Phil and Vanessa looked it over carefully. It was a smallish residence, single-story, with a front porch overflowing with junk of various sorts. The freshly-fallen snow covered up the front yard, but rusty-looking objects poked through the white blanket here and there.

"What a rat-trap!" Tony breathed as they started up the front walk. "Van, maybe you'd better let Phil or me do the telephone angle here, huh?"

"No, it's all right," Vanessa whispered, carefully mounting the warped steps to the porch. She clutched at Phil's hand for support as her foot slipped on the icy surface. "I'll do it." Reaching the door, she took a deep breath and then knocked sharply.

In a few moments, footsteps were heard approaching, and then the door was pulled ajar.

"Yeah?" The speaker was a young man, possibly in his late twenties. Several days' worth of stubble adorned his face, and he had longish dark hair pulled back in a pony tail.

Vanessa swallowed, and cast a quick glance at Phil. _Have we hit pay dirt already?_ "Uh – hi. I was wondering – could we possibly use your telephone? We've had some car trouble, and need to call Triple-A, but my cell phone battery's gone dead." She smiled at him as sweetly as she could, but she was anticipating rejection.

"Sure!" To her shocked surprise, the young man swung the door open wider. "Come on in." Vanessa and Phil entered; Tony indicated that he'd wait on the porch. Several more men appeared from the back of the house, and Vanessa instinctively shrank against Phil, for all of them were what she mentally termed _scuzzy_. _Biker-gang types_ her mind whispered, noting leather clothing and an abundance of tattoos. Was this what they were looking for? Vanessa squared her shoulders. Joe and Frank were counting on her; she would _not_ let them down.

"Uh – maybe you could phone, Phil, and – uh – could I possibly use your bathroom?" Vanessa asked their guide.

"Sure," another of the young men answered, stepping forward. This one had a full beard, his hair was cut very short, and he was wearing a leather jacket and boots. "Phone's right over here, man." He beckoned Phil in the direction of what appeared to be a living room – except that the floor was covered with what looked to be motorcycles in pieces, and tools.

"Bathroom is down the hall, sugar." A third man grinned appreciatively at Vanessa. Hair as long and blonde as hers cascaded over his shoulders, and he would have been good-looking if it hadn't been for the scar decorating his right cheek. "Come on, I'll show you." He led her down a passageway and indicated a half-open door. "Right in there."

"Thank you," she said faintly.

"Anything for a beautiful lady in distress!" he replied, and winked broadly before retreating up the hall again.

Vanessa went into the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and halted in dismay. _My gosh, don't these guys ever clean?_ With great care she picked her way across the grimy floor, through the heaps of soiled clothing and wet towels flung thereon. Shuddering, she noted cockroaches scurrying around the perimeter of the room. _What this place needs is a housekeeper – or an exterminator!_ Thankful that she didn't actually need to use the facilities, Vanessa fastidiously flushed the toilet, vowing to wash her hands as soon as possible. _With soap, and the hottest water I can stand – and maybe bleach – or hydrogen peroxide!_

Upon returning to the entrance, Vanessa found Phil waiting for her. "Thank you so much," she told their hosts. "You've really done us a favor."

"Any time, sweetheart!" The first man, he of the stubble and ponytail, opened the door with a flourish. "Come back and visit again, huh?"

"Um – maybe we'll do that," she replied, trying not to appear frantic to flee the premises.

As they made their way down the sidewalk, Tony vainly attempted to keep from laughing out loud. "You guys! – if you could only see your faces!" He choked, trying to control his mirth. Vanessa gave him an icy look, but Tony only laughed harder.

Across the street, Biff and Chet were mounting the steps of a small but extremely tidy frame house. In response to Biff's pressing the doorbell, an elderly woman swathed in an apron opened the door and smiled at them inquiringly.

"Excuse us for bothering you, ma'am," Biff began, on his best behavior. "But my friend and I are doing research for a report for school. We're supposed to take a survey on whether people take down their Christmas trees right after Christmas, or leave them up until New Year's, or even later. Could we ask you a few questions?"

"Of course," she beamed. "Come right in, boys. I wasn't expecting company today but I've got cookies just out of the oven, and you're just in time to try them. Do come along and sit down!"

She bustled ahead of them, leading the way to a kitchen redolent with the smell of ginger and cinnamon. Chet's eyes sparkled with anticipation; if this was detective work, he'd do it all the time!

"Sit down, please! And as soon as you've tried the cookies, I'll answer any questions you like for your report. My name's Wilma Rogers, by the way."

Biff and Chet found themselves seated at a large kitchen table whereon sat several wire racks covered with cooling ginger cookies. The little old lady scurried about for a few moments, pouring two glasses of milk and setting these in front of the boys, and putting a dozen or so cookies on a plate which she set between them. Then she settled into another kitchen chair and folded her hands on the table. Gray curls nodded above her wire-rimmed eyeglasses as she bobbed her head. "Are you all set? My name is Wilma Rogers, as I said, and I'm 76 years old." She pushed the plate of cookies closer to Chet, then continued speaking.

"There. Now, about the survey…let's see. I always take my tree down three days after Christmas…I don't know why, exactly; that's just the way we always did it. My husband, Gerald – he's been gone now for nearly 15 years – said that was long enough to leave it up. Of course, we always put it up on the second Saturday of December, so I suppose Gerald was right; it would get so dry anyway."

Biff exchanged a quick glance with Chet, and hastily snatched a notebook and pen from his pocket, giving the impression he was taking notes. Chet drank some milk and reached for another cookie.

"The children always wanted to put it up earlier, but we held firm; not until the second Saturday. And they'd fuss to leave it up until New Year's, but I always thought it was nice to get things cleaned up and put away before the new year started, and that's what I told them…."

"Uh, thank you Mrs. Rogers—"

"Of course, back during the War, we couldn't put up outside lights – you boys wouldn't remember that, of course; I was about your age when that was going on. The blackouts, you know. They were afraid that the Germans or the Japanese were going to come over with their bombers and blow us up. We couldn't even have the tree lights on at night, and it didn't do much good to turn them on in the daytime! But we put them on just the same, even though we couldn't light them."

Biff took a gulp of his milk; he'd stopped even attempting to take notes. _This is crazy!_ Mentally shrugging, he picked up a cookie and bit into it.

"Nowadays, they have so many lights, and they have them on all day and all night, seems like! My Andrew – that's my oldest son, Andrew – and his wife, they bought an artificial tree this year. Can you believe that? And they paid $200 for it! Andrew said if they'd gotten one all decorated already, it would have been $500! Tell me, what's the use of an artificial tree? It doesn't smell like a Christmas tree, does it? And why would you want to get one already decorated? That's the fun of a Christmas tree, decorating it!"

"Yes, of course." Biff cast an anguished _help me!_ look at Chet, but the other boy was calmly scooping cookies off the plate and sliding them into his jacket pocket. He caught Biff's eye and grinned.

"…and they got it – what did they call it? – flocked. Why, when I was young, if you wanted a tree with snow on it, you mixed up Ivory Snow soap flakes and water, and made a paste, and patted it onto the tree branches. Looks just like real snow, you know."

Biff rose to his feet in desperation. "Ma'am – Mrs. Rogers, we really appreciate this, but we need to go on and survey more people. Come on, Chet!" He grabbed Chet's arm and hauled him from his chair, then backed them both out of the kitchen and toward the front door. "Thanks again, ma'am, we'll use the information you gave us. And thanks for the cookies."

Mrs. Rogers followed them, still chatting. "I'm so glad you boys dropped in; I needed someone to help eat up those cookies, and my grandchildren aren't going to be here until Saturday! I hope your survey goes well. Come back again and visit, won't you?"

As they walked toward the next house on their route, Biff castigated Chet soundly. "Was there some reason you couldn't jump in and help? Why'd you just sit there and make me have to listen to all that stuff about the trees and the lights and the soap flakes?"

Chet chuckled. "The cookies were good, pal!"

Phil, Vanessa and Tony waved at them from across the street, and the two sauntered over to talk for a moment.

"How's it going?" Tony asked. For some reason, he appeared to be having a hard time keeping from laughing. Vanessa slugged him in the shoulder, hard.

Biff related their time spent at Mrs. Rogers' house, and as he had anticipated, the tale was greeted with howls of laughter. Vanessa then shared her experience in the bikers' house.

"If this is what detective work is about, let's leave it to Frank and Joe!" Tony spluttered. "Hey, Morton, share the cookies, huh?" He held out his hand, and Chet reluctantly placed a ginger cookie in it.

"Enough!" Vanessa clapped her hands together, and then regarded them distastefully. "Rubbing alcohol," she muttered, then continued, "let's switch sides of the street, okay? You two take that one, and we'll go across the street."

The boys exchanged glances, then nodded. "Sure, no problem," Chet replied, and tugged Biff in the direction of the house Vanessa had indicated.

When Chet knocked upon the door, there was an almost immediate response: several loud wails, a scrabbling sound just inside the door, and finally a loud, irritated voice.

"Just a minute; be right there! No, Eric, you can't go outside! It's too cold!"

The door of the house opened suddenly, to reveal a woman in her mid-30s, perhaps, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and holding a crying baby on one hip. Clinging to her leg and peeping out curiously was a small girl with her thumb stuck in her mouth. She stared distrustfully at the two boys with her big brown eyes. "Whoops, there he goes! Eric! You come back! One of you grab him, huh?" the woman shouted suddenly.

As Biff automatically retreated, something small and swift-moving exited the door and headed for the porch steps. Chet, who was standing behind him, bent down and grabbed for the elusive Eric, who appeared to be about two years old, scrambling on all fours. He wriggled frantically in Chet's grip.

" 'Emme go! Wanna p'ay inna snow!" the toddler shrieked, and struggled to be released. "Wanna p'ay in it!" He kicked Chet soundly in the stomach as Chet endeavored to restrain him. Biff made a slight choking sound and bit his tongue hard.

"Ma'am, we're sorry to bother you, but we're taking a survey for a school report—" Chet began, trying to talk over the wails of the baby and Eric's frustrated shrieks.

"I really don't have time, guys!" the woman said loudly. "Say, why aren't you in school?" she asked curiously, jiggling the baby in an effort to hush its cries.

"The heating system's broken at the high school," Biff replied. "We can't go back until next week."

"Wow – I'm glad the elementary schools are open!" she muttered. "Otherwise I'd have two more here! Hey, I'm sorry, but I really can't take part in your survey. I just don't have the time. Melissa, honey—" addressing the little girl, "grab Eric as soon as the nice man puts him down, okay? And I'll shut the door really fast…." She gave Biff and Chet a somewhat frazzled grin and motioned to Chet. "Just set him inside the door and run like mad!"

Chet deposited the screaming Eric inside the door and he and Biff beat a hasty retreat.

Vanessa, Phil and Tony walked toward their next destination. Vanessa noted the presence of the dark brown car parked directly across the street from them; she recognized that car. It was the one she had seen in a certain store parking lot on Monday afternoon. "Heads up, guys," she murmured. "Maybe this one will be it."

They mounted the steps, and Vanessa rang the doorbell. After a bit it opened to reveal a tall, lean man in his late 30s. He had dark hair and eyes, and he scowled at his uninvited visitors. Vanessa smiled sweetly, and went into her spiel about a problem with a car, a dead cell phone battery, and her need to use the bathroom while one of the others used the phone.

"Naw – can't help you; the phone's dead – ice dropped the lines," the man said gruffly. "Sorry." He moved to close the door, but Vanessa stepped onto the threshold.

"Could I at least use your bathroom, then?" she asked, attempting to look plaintive. "It's so cold out, and I really—"

"Sorry, lady—"

"Please? It's really kind of an emergency—" Vanessa moved another step into the house.

"Okay, okay, but make it snappy, huh?" The man stepped back, and waved his hand toward a door nearby. "Right there."

Vanessa stepped into the bathroom, which thankfully was much cleaner than the last one she had visited. When she exited the room, a minute or two later, her reluctant host practically shoved her out the front door. As she departed, however, Vanessa turned her head sharply just before the door closed. _What was that? It sounded like – crying!_

"Guys, something's going on in there!" Vanessa grabbed Tony's and Phil's arms and hustled them down the sidewalk. "I'd swear I heard someone crying, just as I left. And that guy was in an awful hurry to get me out of the house!"

"I noticed that," Phil nodded. "That he wanted you out, I mean; I didn't hear any crying."

"It was faint, but I'm sure that's what it was." Vanessa pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and punched a single digit. "Joe? We think we've got a possible."

In just a few minutes, the teens were gathered beside Biff's Blazer; Joe and Frank slipped inside the vehicle where they could remain out of sight. Vanessa hastily explained her findings and opinions, corroborated by Tony and Phil.

"Well, it's not a sure thing, but it bears checking out," Frank said, glancing at the house. "We don't dare leave anything uncertain. Let's go, guys."

They marched back up onto the porch, and Joe pressed the doorbell. When the man opened the door, Biff sprang into action, shoving the door open wide. Frank and Tony leaped through the opening and grabbed the startled man's wrists. They pushed him against the nearest wall and held him there while Phil, Chet, Joe and Vanessa piled into the house and slammed the door behind them. Biff and Chet immediately moved to take Frank's and Tony's places.

"Hey, what's the idea? What's with you punks? Get outta here!" The dark-haired man struggled ineffectually against his captors; Biff and Chet simply leaned a little harder against him and held him still.

"Check the rooms; where'd you hear the crying from, Van?" Frank snapped.

"Back here," she answered, and headed down the hallway.

"What's going on?" screamed the man. "Are you guys nuts? You can't just come in here like this! I'm gonna have the police on you so fast it'll make your heads spin—"

"Joe, you check out the rest of the downstairs and make sure there's no one else here," Frank directed. "Phil, you and Tony look upstairs." Quickly, the three of them departed, leaving Frank glaring at the furious man Biff and Chet held pinioned against the wall.

"Are you the one that made the tape?" Frank snapped. "Or are you just one of the hired guns that knocked me out in the parking lot?"

"Huh?" The dark-haired man stared at Frank, totally confused. "What're you talking about?"

There was a sudden cry from the rear of the house where Vanessa had disappeared. "Frank! Joe!"


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

Thank you to those of you who have left commentary and feedback; it is greatly appreciated!

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 14

Hearing Vanessa's cry, Frank spun away from his interrogation and took a few steps in her direction. Joe, also having heard his girlfriend's exclamation, came dashing from the other end of the house. Tony and Phil thundered down the staircase and leaned over the banister rail.

"Van? What's wrong?" Joe shouted.

Footsteps came from the back of the house where Vanessa had disappeared. As the boys watched openmouthed, she appeared leading a small child by the hand.

"Hey guys—" Vanessa spoke very gently. "I think we have a problem."

The little girl appeared to be four, or perhaps five years old. Very slender, with dark eyes and dark brown hair, which looked as it had not been combed for a while. She was whimpering softly, and her face was streaked and slimed with tears.

The man pinioned against the wall sagged suddenly, forcing Chet and Biff to grab him again. "Okay, who are you? My wife sent you, right?"

For all his macho image, Joe Hardy was a sucker for kids. He squatted down next to the little girl and gave her his most winning smile.

"Hi there. My name's Joe. What's yours?"

She sniffled. "Rachel."

"Are you unhappy about something, Rachel? You're crying…." Joe reached out and gently touched his finger to her cheek, catching a tear.

"I wanna go hooooome!" Rachel began to sob again. "I wanna be wif Mommy." She glanced at the defeated-looking man slumped against the wall. "He said he'd take me home las' night, but he diiiiiiin't!"

"Rachel, I will take you home—" he began, but Frank cut him off abruptly.

"Shut up! Where'd you get her from, anyway?" the elder Hardy snapped.

"She's my daughter, you stupid kid!" the man raged.

Frank glanced from one to the other, and was forced to concede the resemblance.

"Rachel, can you tell me what's happened?" Joe coaxed gently. He sat cross-legged on the floor, and patted his lap invitingly. "Come on, sit down and tell me."

Cautiously, Rachel perched on his knee. Vanessa sat down on the floor too, while Tony and Phil dropped to seats on the stairs. Biff and Chet relaxed their grips on the little girl's father, although they did not totally release him. Frank leaned against the front door, keeping his eye on the whole scene.

"Is this your daddy?" Joe asked, indicating the tall man.

Rachel nodded. "Yes….Him said – him said he would take me home las' night," she repeated. "An' I di'n't get my Happy Meal – he promised I could have a Happy Meal." She swiped at the slime on her face. Joe reached his hand toward Frank as if he'd been an operating surgeon.

"Handkerchief," he murmured, and Frank found himself reaching into his pocket to obey, mesmerized by his younger brother's control of the situation. Joe wiped Rachel's face off and continued his gentle questioning.

"You don't usually live here with your daddy?"

"No – I live wif Mommy. An' – an' I come to visit Daddy – but not here. Usu'ly at Daddy's 'partment." She gulped and looked around at the teens. "Why are you here?"

"We're sort of here by mistake, Rachel," Joe told her, "We were looking for a different house, but maybe we can help you get home. You want to go home, right? That's what you said?"

"Yeth….I wan' my Christmath presents!" Her voice rose into a wail of distress again. "An' Misther Rutgers is gonna be mad 'cause I wasn' there to sleep wif him las' night."

"Huh?" Joe cleared his throat and tried again. "Who is Mister Rutgers, Rachel?"

"My teddy bear," she whimpered, "he'll miss me."

On the staircase, Tony suddenly made a choking noise and ducked his head, fighting a laugh. Phil nudged him sharply, but the corners of his mouth were twitching too.

"Okay Rachel, we'll see if we can get you home to your mommy and Mr. Rutgers," Joe assured her. He looked up at the man Biff and Chet still held against the wall. "Care to explain?"

"She's my daughter," the man muttered. "I'm Allen Thomas, by the way. My wife and I were divorced two years ago – she got custody of Rachel. I work in the repair shop at the New York State Department of Transportation – you know, fixing the snowplows and stuff – but my hours were cut recently, and things are kind of tight, money-wise. So Denise – that's my ex-wife – said, if I couldn't come up with child support payments on time, then I don't get to see Rachel until I do." He glared bitterly at the Hardys and their friends. "I just wanted to see my daughter, damn it!"

"So you snatched her?" Frank asked coolly.

"Yeah, yeah….I wanted to make Denise mad, I guess – plus, I wanted to see Rachel. Because Denise is getting married again. Her new fella's some high mucky-muck in computers. And they're going to move to Chicago." His voice shook. "I'll never get to see Rachel then…the guy wants to adopt her."

Biff and Chet exchanged glances; without a word they released Allen Thomas's wrists. He sank to a sitting position on the hall floor and held out his arms to his daughter. She glanced from him to Joe; the younger Hardy patted her on the back and gave her a little push towards her father. Rachel moved from Joe's lap to Mr. Thomas's, and the teens watched as he cuddled her in his arms.

"I think we made a little mistake," Biff whispered.

Mr. Thomas looked up. "You didn't come here because my wife sent you?" he asked blankly.

"No," Frank replied quietly. "We're looking for someone all right, but it's not Rachel. We got the wrong house. I'm sorry about it – but Mr. Thomas, you know – this counts as kidnapping, even though she's your daughter."

"I know. So you guys are gonna turn me in to the police, right?"

"I wanna go home!" Rachel piped up.

"Mr. Thomas, if a couple of us go with you and explain the situation, perhaps we could clear things up," Joe suggested. He glanced at Chet and Biff. "You two could go. And perhaps if Vanessa and Phil, say, take Rachel home to her mother, she might be talked out of pressing charges."

Allen Thomas stared at him. "You'd do that for me?"

"Wish we didn't have to turn him in," Chet muttered sympathetically.

"But Rachel's mother was probably worried sick about her all night," Vanessa reminded him. "Wondering where she might be."

Chet sighed. "I know, I know."

Joe smiled at Rachel. "Would you like Vanessa and Phil – that's Phil, on the stairs, the one with the light hair – to take you home, Rachel?"

"Yeth." She nodded, and looked at Vanessa. "I like you – you're pretty!"

The others chuckled as Vanessa turned pink, and Joe caught her eye and winked. "Thank you, Rachel." She got to her feet and extended her hand. "Let's go comb your hair and wash your face, okay?"

Rachel happily departed with Vanessa, and the boys gathered around Mr. Thomas, who sat looking up at them forlornly. "I don't want to lose my daughter, kids. You don't know what you're doing to me!"

"Mr. Thomas, you knew when you took Rachel that you were breaking the law. But if you call your wife and tell her you're sending Rachel home, do you think it might smooth things over?" Frank queried.

"I can't call…the lines really are down." he answered. "That – and the fact that this house isn't where I live; it belongs to a friend of mine – are the only reasons Denise wasn't able to track me down right away."

Joe took his cell phone from his pocket and held it out. "Here – call her and tell her Rachel's coming home. And then Biff and Chet will go with you to the police station. If you turn yourself in and explain things…well, I can't promise anything, but—"

Thomas took the phone and began dialing a number, slowly. Vanessa and Rachel returned, Rachel looking much improved. She was skipping happily along, clinging to Vanessa's hand.

"Rachel told me her address," Vanessa announced, over Thomas' low-toned conversation.

"Yeth," the little girl said proudly. "I learned in ki'dergarten – my telephone number an' my addreth."

Allen Thomas returned Joe's phone and got coats from the hall closet for himself and Rachel. "Who are you guys, anyway?" he asked curiously.

Frank enumerated, pointing at each person in turn. "Vanessa Bender…Phil Cohen…Chet Morton…Biff Hooper…Tony Prito. I'm Frank Hardy, and—" he grinned a little. "that blonde guy who sweet-talked your daughter is my brother, Joe."

"The Hardys?" Thomas raised his eyebrows. "I've heard of you. Guess if I was going to get busted, I'd just as soon it was you that did it….Give Daddy a hug goodbye, Sweetie," he murmured to his daughter, and knelt, holding out his arms to her. She flung herself on him and squeezed him about the neck.

"Bye-bye, Daddy! I'll come back soon! An' nex' time I'll bring Mr. Rutgers along, and we'll stay a whole weekend, like before."

"I hope so, Rachel." He rose to his feet and looked at Vanessa and Phil. "Could you maybe buy her a Happy Meal before you get her home?" he whispered.

Phil smiled conspiratorially. "You got it!" he murmured, then more loudly: "Come on Rachel, we're going to ride in Vanessa's pretty red Wrangler!"

Rachel gazed up at him. "What's a W'angler?"

"It's a neat little jeep," Phil told her. "It goes in the snow real swell." Vanessa took Rachel's hand, and the three departed.

Allen Thomas gazed after them from the front door, watching until they drove away. Then he turned to the remaining teens. "I guess now it's my turn," he said resignedly.

"I'm really sorry—" Chet began, but the man raised his hand to stop him.

"It's okay; Denise said she wouldn't press charges if Rachel came home okay, but she already had notified the police. I guess if I go down and explain, things'll work out all right."

Chet, Biff and Mr. Thomas went outside, and Frank, Tony and Joe followed them onto the porch. "It's the gray Blazer," Biff pointed to his vehicle. "Looks like crap, but it runs great!" he added with a grin.

"Goodbye, Mr. Thomas." Joe held out his hand. "I hope everything works out okay; you have a cute little daughter."

"Yes, she is, isn't she?" Allen Thomas shook Joe's hand, then reached for Frank's. "Goodbye. And good luck finding whoever it is you were looking for." Mr. Thomas locked the front door, then walked down the sidewalk, closely flanked by Biff and Chet.

Bob put a box in the back of the nondescript van Sid and Rocco had arrived in earlier. Sullivan had ordered the three of them to pack up everything to be transported to the new safe house. Bob wondered why Sullivan didn't just kill the girls and that nosy detective Fenton Hardy, but when he had asked, Sullivan informed him that _he_ would do the thinking.

He heard the slamming of car doors, and an engine start; then almost immediately afterward, a second engine cranked up. Two vehicles leaving at the same time was unusual in this neighborhood, unless it was those motorcycle guys, who roared in and out at all hours - unusual enough to make him look up. He didn't recognize either vehicle pulling away from the house across the street, but he did recognize one of the three guys standing in the yard. His heart skipped a beat – it was Frank Hardy.

Leaving the back of the van open, Bob ran into the house. Sullivan looked up as he loaded more supplies in a box. "What is it? I thought I told you to load the van."

"Frank Hardy is across the street with two other guys. I think one of them might be his brother."

Sullivan swore. "I don't pay you to think; I pay you to take care of problems. Well, Frank Hardy must not care about his pretty little girlfriend as much as either of those girls thinks he does." He raised his voice. "Sid, Rocco, get in here."

The two burly henchmen left the storeroom where they'd been packing away stuff. Sid dropped a box on the floor. "Yeah, Boss?"

"The Hardys are out there - about to discover us before we're ready for them. I need at least thirty minutes to get the essentials loaded and the girls out of here. You three do what you have to do in order to stall them."

Rocco smiled. "You want us to kill them?"

"Only if you have to."

##########

"So what do we do now?" Tony asked, as they watched Biff and Chet leave with Allen Thomas in Biff's Blazer. Phil and Vanessa had already driven off in the Wrangler to return Rachel to her mother. "This was only our fourth house to check and we still haven't found your dad, Megan and Callie. Do you want me to do the survey scam on my own?"

Reaching down, Frank scooped up a handful of snow and fashioned a crude ball. He slung it toward the fence in frustration. For all he knew Megan could be seriously hurt or dead by now and there was nothing he or anyone else could do. "No, Tony. It would be too dangerous for you to go alone."

Joe glanced about. "We're too exposed here. Let's go back to the van and discuss our options. We can cut through the backyard and not worry about being seen."

The three boys made their way around the side of the house. As they walked Tony put his hand on Frank's shoulder. "Hey, man, I'm sorry the plan didn't work. I wish it had been Megan and Callie in that bedroom."

Frank shrugged. "I guess I should be glad we were able to reunite Rachel with her mom. I just hope Megan's okay," he added despondently.

Joe, who was bringing up the rear, halted suddenly, hearing the sound of crunching snow behind him. He motioned for the other two to stop.

Frank frowned. "What's wrong, Joe?"

"I think someone's…"

Before Joe could finish his sentence, the boys were jumped from behind by three men. Joe landed heavily on the ground, but managed to twist about so that he was on his back, trying to gain leverage against his assailant. He didn't know what was happening to his brother or Tony, but he realized he would have to take care of this 300-pound gorilla before he could even think about helping them.

Frank meanwhile found himself face downward in the snow. Bright spots of color swam in front of his vision as his head was pressed firmly down, and the cold, wet snow slowly smothered him. He groped about in the snow, desperately seeking some sort of weapon, and was rewarded when his right hand closed around a solid wooden object that felt like a baseball bat buried in the snow. Without hesitation he grabbed it and swung backward, catching his attacker in the shoulder.

Tony was strong and athletic, but lacked the combat skills that both Frank and Joe possessed. Still, he held his own against his assailant until a surprise right cross broke through his guard and landed solidly across the left side of his jaw. Stunned, Tony fell back, landing against something cold and metal – a child's slide, as far as he could tell.

Joe kicked out, planting a solid blow to Rocco's ribs. The burly man grunted but didn't retreat, and rage flashed in his eyes. "You're gonna pay for that, punk." As if to prove his point, Rocco pulled out his gun and pointed it at Joe.

Sid yelped as the baseball bat connected with his shoulder, and released his hold on Frank's head in reflex. As the teenager turned over and tried to catch his breath, Sid wrenched the bat from Frank's grasp; then swung it into the boy's stomach. The air Frank had greedily been taking in was immediately knocked out of him. Darkness nibbled at the edges of his consciousness.

Bob meanwhile spotted a covered hot tub next to the house. Leaving Tony stunned on the slide, he quickly slid the plywood cover off the basin. The tub was empty – the water having been drained at the beginning of winter to prevent the tub from cracking – but even empty it would provide a convenient, temporary prison for the three boys while they made their escape.

He went back to Tony and picked him up bodily, then threw the hapless teen into the receptacle. He glanced over at Sid, who stood gloating over Frank. "Dump him in here. This will keep them on ice for the time the Boss needs to get the girls moved."

Sid looked at the snow-covered yard and laughed. "Keep 'em on ice, huh – really funny, Bob." He hauled Frank to his feet, dragged him across the yard, and tossed him in with Tony. "Rocco, you gonna finish up over there?"

Joe braced himself for the gunshot, but it never came. Instead, Rocco smiled nastily. "The boss said I could only kill you if I had no other choice. I guess I'll just have to give you something else to remember me by. Sweet dreams, Hardy." With that he pistol-whipped Joe across the left temple. Joe only had time for a small pained grunt before darkness closed over him.

Rocco turned back to Sid and Bob. "Come on, let's get back to the house."

"You wanna dump him in here with the other two?" Bob gestured toward the hot tub.

Rocco looked down at the unconscious teen and smirked. "He's not going anywhere," he laughed. "Put that cover on and let's go. By the time those two get out and he wakes up, we'll be long gone and Frank Hardy won't know where to find his pretty girlfriend."


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2000, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

Thank you to all those who have left feedback and commentary, and to those 'following'; it is greatly appreciated.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 15

"Frank…Frank, you awake?"

The voice was familiar, but it wasn't Joe's. _Who?…where am I?_ Frank blinked his eyes open and then wondered if something had happened to his vision, for he still could see nothing. A sudden sensation of pain caused him to groan and clutch his aching stomach. _Can't – catch my – breath…._

"Hang on a minute." There was a scraping, grinding sort of noise, and light flooded in, making Frank wince and close his eyes again for a moment. When he opened them cautiously, he saw Tony bending over him with a look of intense concern on his face. "Are you okay, Frank?"

"I think so." Frank sat up slowly, holding his stomach. "Ahhh, man that hurts!" He looked up at Tony and this time noticed the darkening bruise on his friend's jaw. "What about you?"

"I'll live," Tony assured him, gently fingering his chin. "Luckily, I don't have a glass jaw – and all my teeth seem to be intact too."

"Joe—" Frank suddenly remembered just what had occurred, and why they were where they were. "Where's Joe?"

"Let's get out of here and find out." Tony shoved the hot-tub cover back further and stood up, then reached down to assist Frank. "Easy now, you don't look so good," he added, watching the elder Hardy attempt to stand. Frank tried to straighten up, but doubled over again for a moment.

"It's okay…just bruises…." Frank took a few shallow breaths, then managed a deeper one and stood erect. "Let's go…."

The two boys climbed out of their makeshift prison, and Frank spotted his younger brother lying a few yards away, flat on his back in the snow. "Uh-oh," he muttered, and stumbled over to kneel beside Joe with Tony right on his heels.

As Frank automatically reached to feel for his brother's pulse, Joe moved his head and moaned. As he turned his head, Frank saw an ugly reddish-blue bruise on his left temple.

"Oh man, did he ever take a hit!" Tony breathed.

"It doesn't look too good, I agree…Joe? Joe, can you hear me?"

"Yeah…" Joe's reply was more a groan than words. _At least he's coming around!_ Frank thought. "Frank, 'zat you?"

"It's me; Tony and I are right here. Open your eyes for me, okay?"

"Head hurts…so much," Joe whispered, but his eyelids fluttered open and he stared up at his brother with dazed blue eyes.

"I know it does," Frank said soothingly. "Just lie still for a minute." He felt in his pocket for his handkerchief, intending to make a cold pack, but found it was gone. _Where'd my handkerchief go? Oh, that's right, Joe took it to dry off Rachel's face._ Unable to locate his own handkerchief, Frank delved into Joe's coat pocket and unearthed one, which he proceeded to pack with snow _. Why didn't he use his own handkerchief for Rachel instead of taking mine?_ He pressed it against the bruise on Joe's temple, and immediately felt guilty when Joe flinched from the touch.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, sorry! But this'll help keep down the swelling, Joe, you know that."

"Yeah, I know." Very slowly, Joe levered himself to his elbows, then sat upright. Tony hunkered down behind him, serving as a prop and a back brace. Joe peered at his brother from beneath the snow-filled cloth. "You guys okay?"

"Just some bruises," Frank answered grimly. "You took the worst of it. Those guys meant business." He looked around the yard, then blinked, suddenly focusing on something. "Hey, we've got to go after them!" he gasped, and struggled to his feet. "They can lead us right to Megan and Callie! Look, they left footprints!" He pointed, and Tony and Joe obediently looked where he indicated. Sure enough, doubled footprints led out of the backyard.

"Let's go! Come on, Joe, can't you stand up?" Frank tugged on his brother's arm impatiently, trying to raise him from the snow.

"Wait a minute, give me a minute," Joe pleaded. "Everything still spins if I move my head too fast." Although he was as yet unable to stand, Joe's mind was racing. _Did those goons say anything about Dad? The one that hit me said "the boss said not to kill you unless I didn't have a choice"…no, that's not it…one of them said something about "moving the girls." But he didn't mention Dad. What if they killed him…._

"Frank, hang on a second." Tony braced Joe and helped him get to his feet. "You can't just go barreling off after them; think a minute!" He put a supporting arm about Joe. "You okay now, buddy?" Joe nodded. "Do you still have your phone with you? And is it okay?" Tony continued. Joe nodded again, and removed it from his pocket. "Okay, Frank, call Con Riley, right away. Tell him we've located the girls – no, sorry, tell him you think you've located Callie, and we need some backup." Tony pushed the phone toward Frank, who stared at it a few seconds, then began to dial. While the elder Hardy talked to Riley, Tony propped Joe against the side of the hot tub and held the ice pack against his temple. Occasionally he took it away from Joe's head and pressed it against his own rapidly-swelling jaw.

"Frank – tell Con not to run the siren or lights on the way here," Joe roused himself to remind his brother. "We don't want to scare them off." Frank nodded, finished his conversation, and handed the phone back to Joe. Then he stooped and picked up something from the yard.

"This time I'm not letting this out of my hands!" he muttered, hefting the baseball bat. "I've got a couple of scores to settle with those goons….Okay, let's go," he urged the other two, and led the way out of the backyard, careful not to mar the telltale prints.

"Wait a minute." Joe caught Frank's arm as he was about to step into the front yard. "Look, the tracks go right across the street – and see, that van? Look, those guys loading it are our new friends, aren't they?"

Frank looked where Joe was pointing, and nodded. "There's the one that slugged me." He slapped the bat lightly against his palm as he spoke.

"And my pal Rocco," Joe breathed. "…and there's the third one. Okay, we've got to get across the street without them seeing us…."

Luck was with them. Almost immediately, all three of the men disappeared into the house, apparently after another load of supplies, leaving their van standing in the driveway with its back doors wide open.

"Now!" Frank hissed, and the three boys ran across the street. "Joe, get inside," Frank directed. "Tony, stay on the side away from the house, so the door shields you." He hopped into the van after Joe and crouched down, waiting.

"Give me the bat, Frank," Tony requested, and Frank quickly slid it out to him. There was little room to wield it inside the van, and Tony might need it.

In just a few minutes, voices and footsteps sounded, coming from the house. Frank and Joe exchanged glances and both tensed. Snow crunched underfoot, and then a figure appeared at the van's back doors, carrying a large box. As if they had rehearsed the moves a hundred times, Frank seized the box; Joe grabbed the arm of the man carrying it and jerked him forward into the van, then twisted his arm behind his back to hold him immobile. Frank calmly set down the carton, flattened his right hand, and delivered a karate chop to the back of Sid's – for Sid it was – neck The thug collapsed with a grunt, and lay still, sprawled halfway into the back of the van. Tony hastily moved around the side of the vehicle, picked up Sid's legs and shoved him unceremoniously onto the back deck.

"Nice one, Frank," Joe commented. He busily set about undoing Sid's belt and proceeded to strap the man's hands together behind him with it, while Tony, grinning fiendishly, tied Sid's shoelaces together with the tightest knots he could manage, and wrapped the extra lengths about the thug's ankles. Frank searched the man's pockets and retrieved a wicked-looking .38 revolver which he slid into his jacket pocket.

"Get ready," Tony hissed, and disappeared around the side of the van just as the back door to the house opened once more.

"Sid, quit taking so long!" a voice bellowed, accompanied by the sound of snow squeaking underfoot once again. "We've got a whole lotta stuff that has to go in there yet!"

This time Tony took the initiative. As Bob stepped to the van, the youth bent down, reached beneath the door, and struck a solid blow with the baseball bat, right behind Bob's knees. A strangled cry escaped the burly henchman's lips, but Frank was out of the van and on him before he could utter a second yell. He gripped the man around the throat and leaned close. "One sound, and I'll crush your windpipe!" he whispered, and tightened his grasp to drive the point home.

Bob nodded. The boys dragged him to his feet and hustled him around the side of the van, where Joe stuffed a familiar-looking cloth into his mouth and tied the handkerchief that had been doing duty as an ice pack across it.

"What was that you used as a gag?" Frank inquired quietly, anticipating the answer.

Joe grinned. "Your handkerchief." he whispered, and ferreted in Bob's pocket for his revolver.

Frank, remembering just what was smeared all over that particular handkerchief, grimaced – and then began to laugh. When Bob's hands were secured behind him, they pushed him into the van's seat, and tipped him sideways so that he wasn't visible from the house. Meanwhile, Tony had found a couple of rags and gagged the semi-conscious Sid. Then they resumed their places, swung the back doors almost shut, and waited once more.

"Sid? Bob? Where'd you guys go?" Rocco bellowed. "I'm not gonna move all this junk by myself; get back in here!" A long silence followed, while the boys held their breaths and their positions, all silently willing the third goon to follow his mates to the van. "Sid?"

Finally the awaited footsteps approached. " _He's mine,"_ Joe mouthed silently to Frank, who nodded agreement. Rocco pulled open one of the back doors, and as he did so, the younger Hardy lunged forward, gripped the top of the door frame, and shot both feet directly into the thug's face. Rocco fell backwards into the snow, blood spurting from his nose. Tony darted around the side of the van once again, and rapped Rocco smartly across the temple with the baseball bat. The man went limp, out cold.

"Quick, get him in here!" Frank hissed, shoving Sid to one side to make room. Joe and Tony lifted Rocco and placed his body next to Sid's, and the three boys quickly tied Rocco's hands and feet and gagged him too.

"Tony, can you stay here and keep an eye on these three idiots?" Joe asked, as he pulled Rocco's gun from the man's pocket. He handed the weapon to Tony, who wrinkled his nose distastefully, but accepted it. Frank, observing that Sid, at least, was regaining consciousness, grinned wickedly.

"Tone—" he suggested, "why don't you entertain them while you wait? You can tell them about your uncle – the one from Chicago?" As Tony stared at his friend, bewildered, Frank winked at him, and after a moment, Tony's face cleared.

"Oh, you mean my Uncle Guido?" he said. "Sure, I've got lots of stories about Uncle Guido. You'll enjoy these, Sid; you and my uncle may know some people in common. Ever been to Chicago? My uncle is quite well known there. Uncle Guido happens to be very fond of me, you know that? He's going to be quite upset when I tell him about this situation, and how someone almost broke my jaw…."

Joe and Frank slipped quietly from the van, leaving Tony to spin his tale of an entirely-fictitious Mafia uncle, and headed toward the house.

"…and we almost got away. We were actually outside. But then Sullivan caught us," Callie concluded the story. She and Megan had spent some time telling Fenton Hardy what had transpired the night before, when they had made their escape attempt. Both girls were pale and hollow-eyed from lack of sleep; Callie especially appeared drained. Mr. Hardy looked tired, but not as exhausted as his young companions.

"You two were very brave – and very resourceful," Fenton commented. His compliment brought a faint smile to Callie's lips, and Megan's cheeks turned pink. Enforced togetherness was giving her a new view of the famous detective – and likewise giving Fenton a new perspective on the girl Frank was so enamored with.

"What do you think will happen now?" she asked – but before Mr. Hardy could reply, the door to their room banged open, and Sullivan, still wearing his ski mask but recognizable by his clothes, stamped into the room.

"All right, time to move out," he growled.

The girls and Fenton blinked at him. "Where?" Callie asked blankly.

The man snorted. "You really think I'd tell you? Come on." He took a key from his pocket and proceeded to unlock the cuff that held Megan to her chair. "On your feet."

Megan shivered. "I'm so cold and stiff," she complained. "I don't know if I can stand up." She started to rise, but sank back in her chair. "Ow, my knees hurt!"

"I said, on your feet!" Sullivan snapped, grabbing her arm and yanking her up. "No excuses, you little brat."

"It's not an excuse—" she answered, but managed to stay standing this time.

"You don't have to mistreat her!" Fenton protested. Sullivan just snarled, and shoved Megan in front of him as he passed Fenton's chair.

Holding the gun in his left hand, Sullivan used his key to unfasten Callie's handcuff. "Okay, Blondie, let's go."

Callie, taking her cue from Megan's earlier action, also shivered. "I'm cold too," she said. "And I was sick last night; I feel so weak." She stared up at Sullivan, trying to look as pathetic as possible. "I don't think I can walk."

Sullivan, apparently pushed to his limit, backhanded Callie across the cheek. Her head snapped back, and Fenton, with an outraged shout, endeavored to rise from his chair, but was stopped by the cuff on his wrist.

"I'm warning you, Hardy, don't try it!" Sullivan swung the gun toward the enraged detective. Sullivan glared at him for a moment, then turned toward Callie once more. "Get up, or you get a bullet right now, and I won't have to deal with you any more." She hesitated, and he moved the gun closer to her head. With a sigh, Callie struggled to her feet. Her cheek bore a large red mark where she had been struck.

"I'm trying, believe me," she told their captor. "I don't want you to shoot me, but I feel so shaky…."

Sullivan prodded Callie in front of him. "Over there, with her." Slowly, Callie began to walk towards Megan. As she passed Fenton's chair, she stumbled a little, and put her hand out to catch herself and regain her balance.

Fenton's reaction was swift. He reached for Callie with his free hand and yanked her forward, flinging her to the floor. At the same time, he swung one foot in a sweeping arc towards Sullivan's legs, and aimed the other in a kick at his gun hand. Sullivan bellowed in fury as he went down, nearly becoming entangled with Callie's feet, but Fenton's kick missed its target, and Sullivan rolled away, coming up with his gun leveled directly at the detective's head.

"You've brought this on yourself, Hardy!" he shouted, and cocked the trigger.

"No!" Without quite realizing what she was doing, Megan flung herself across the intervening space and stood between Fenton and Sullivan. "You can't shoot him – remember, if anything happens to Mr. Hardy, the conference plans will all be changed, and all this will be for nothing!" She was so pale her freckles stood out sharply, but her blue-green eyes sparked with anger and defiance. "You can't shoot him, and you can't shoot either of us—" she glanced swiftly at Callie, who was picking herself up off the floor, "because then all your leverage with Frank is gone too."

"Megan – my dear girl…" Fenton's whisper came from behind her. "Megan, don't risk yourself like this!"

Sullivan's eyes were like chips of ice, but he heeded Megan's words. He got to his feet slowly, never taking his gaze from his captives. "Get over there," he snarled, gesturing with his free hand. "I won't shoot anybody – yet." Callie moved toward the door, and after a long hesitation, Megan followed. Behind her, still imprisoned in the chair, Fenton shook his head in bemused amazement.

 _Brave little girl – both of them – brave girls;_ he thought. _But now they're being taken away again – and_ _this_ _time there's no one to follow them, or find them. This man Sullivan, whoever he is, holds all the tricks…and if something happens to Megan – Frank may never forgive me._

Sullivan gripped Megan firmly by the arm, and kept his gun aimed directly at Callie's back. "Keep moving," he prodded. "Over to the landing, and down the stairs. You should know the way, girls; you just went that route last night, remember?" The girls silently walked toward the stairs, but just as Callie put her foot on the first step down, Sullivan glanced out the landing window, which overlooked the front of the house.

With a snarled curse, Sullivan yanked Megan back, and gestured for Callie to return also. "Back into that bedroom, now!" He hustled the startled two down the hall, jerked open the bedroom door and shoved them inside, then followed them and slammed the door. He pulled the ski mask from his head with his free hand, revealing dark hair, and features contorted with rage.

"Plans have changed!" he snapped. "As of now – none of you will leave this house alive!"


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit for the plot and undying thanks.

Thanks to those leaving reviews, even though they don't show up any more. I still appreciate the kind thoughts.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 16

"Are you crazy? Megan just reminded you what would happen if you hurt any of us," Fenton quickly tried to reason with their captor. He didn't know what had prompted this sudden change but he knew it couldn't be a good sign.

"All three of you might have gotten out of this alive if your boy had done what he was told. He shouldn't have come nosing around." Sullivan pointed his revolver at Megan. "You, come here."

Megan stayed rooted to her spot. What did he mean? Was it possible that Frank was near? Was the nightmare almost over? _Oh, Frank, please get here soon,_ she pleaded silently.

Sullivan cocked his gun. "I said, get over here, or all your boyfriend is going to find when he gets in here are your brains all over this floor."

"Megan, do what he says," Fenton quietly urged. He hoped, as Megan did, that Frank and Joe were here; that the boys had discovered in which house they were being held prisoner. If so, the girls and he would have to stall for time until his sons planned and carried out their rescue. Stall, and not get themselves killed in the process.

Megan took a faltering step toward Sullivan. Her legs were still stiff and slow to obey. She wasn't sure how much of that was due to sitting in the chair all night and how much was because of the ice-cold terror coursing through her veins.

"Leave her alone!" Callie ordered. She was tired; tired of all the threats and tired of all the danger. She should be home right now preparing to return to Colorado. She was ready for school, where her friends didn't think she was a horrible person for sending Frank a Dear John e-mail. Back where her boyfriend never canceled a date because he had to be on a stakeout instead. She longed for Colorado, where danger was defined as choosing the mystery meat the cafeteria served on Tuesday nights.

Callie held her head high. She couldn't stand idly by and wait for Frank and Joe to rush in and save the day. Hadn't she always told Frank while they were dating that she could take care of herself? Gathering up all her courage, she launched herself at Sullivan, hoping to knock away his gun long enough for Frank and Joe to arrive. The sudden attack caught Sullivan off guard but Callie's 120-pound frame was no match for his 250 pounds.

More annoyed than mad, Sullivan slung her aside, much the way he'd swat at a pestering fly. Callie fell, striking her head on the nightstand as she did so. She lay there semi-conscious on the floor, a thin trickle of blood on her forehead.

"Callie?!" Megan, worry overriding her fear, rushed to the girl. Before she could reach her however, Sullivan snaked his arm out and snatched her to him. Megan started to scream but he clamped his hand over her mouth tightly.

"I don't think so. I'm not quite ready for the Boy Wonders to come in here. Scream and I'll make you wish your parents had never met. Understand?" Once Megan nodded, Sullivan lowered his hand and firmly kept a grip around her slim waist. She couldn't stop a whimper as he placed the barrel of the gun against the side of her head.

"Why are you doing this? You have the plans. What more do you want?" Fenton practically growled. He was concerned about Callie and worried about why Sullivan had a strong hold on Megan. He wished he wasn't helplessly cuffed to the chair.

"Those plans are nothing if I don't have insurance against you changing them. No, I'll have to come up with some other way to see justice done for my brother. But first, I'll have my revenge here. As soon as your sons come in this room, I'll make sure Frank Hardy learns the consequence of double-crossing me. And I'll start by killing his girlfriend, right in front of his eyes."

##########

Joe and Frank entered the house cautiously. Frank had to rein in his desire to rush straight up the stairs and free Megan. Good detective skills told him that they had to search every room downstairs in case Sullivan was lying in wait for them.

Silently, using only hand signals to communicate, Frank and Joe moved from room to room. Time seemed to have slowed as they painstakingly searched every room and closet. Joe, as a rule, always preferred battle to caution; now was no exception even though his head was pounding from the blow he'd taken earlier. For Frank, every moment Megan – and Callie, and his father, he reminded himself sharply – remained in danger seemed like an eternity. After what felt like hours but was in reality only minutes, the two young detectives started up the stairs; neither having any idea that Sullivan was aware of their presence and was waiting for them.

After soundlessly checking the other rooms, Frank flattened himself to one side of the door to the room where he was convinced the girls were being held. The gun in his hand felt unwieldy and unfamiliar; looking at Joe, he knew his brother felt the same way. Neither boy was comfortable with guns even though their father had taught them how to use them properly. Under normal circumstances the brothers would have left the weapons they had taken off Sid, Rocco and Bob in a safe place and gone in unarmed. But this was far from normal circumstances. Frank had no doubt that Sullivan wouldn't hesitate to kill any of his captives if he believed he'd been compromised. He and Joe had to be prepared for anything.

Joe crouched down low and nodded to Frank to open the door. As soon as the door eased open just a hair's breadth, a harsh voice called to them. "Both of you come on in real slow or Megan here will be leaking gray matter."

Keeping a tight hold on his gun, Frank stepped cautiously into the room. Joe followed right behind. Joe immediately surveyed the room. He was relieved to see that their dad appeared unharmed even if the eldest Hardy seemed worried. Then he saw Callie lying on the floor.

Frank saw Callie as well, as his steady gaze swept the room. For a moment he was transported back to a time when the sight of the pretty blonde lying so still would have chilled him to the bone. Now, although he was concerned, he couldn't help but wonder again how all that had changed so quickly, while at the same time turning his attention to Megan.

Silent tears slid down her cheeks as she mutely pleaded with him to do something, anything to save her. Frank's arms ached to pull her close. Every fiber in his body longed to comfort her and to kiss away her tears until every trace of fear drained from her face. He took a step toward her, his hand tightening reflexively on the revolver. Sullivan laughed and pressed the gun closer to Megan's head. "Easy, Hardy, I wouldn't come any closer if I was you."

"Megan, are you okay?" Frank asked softly; the only concession that he would heed Sullivan's advice was that he didn't take another step.

Megan gave a quick almost imperceptible nod. She choked back the whimper of fear that was stuck in her throat, threatening to suffocate her. As terrifying as the experience had been for her, she could tell from one look at his harried, worried face that the last couple of days had been just as hard on Frank. With Sullivan's threat ringing in her ears, she couldn't help but wonder if they were going to get out of this alive. If not, she wanted to reassure Frank how she felt about him in the time they had left. Her voice quivered. "I love you, Frank."

"I love you too," Frank promised, his voice catching on the last word.

"Isn't that sweet?" Sullivan's sarcastic tone was harsh in comparison. "Too bad you're lying to her, Hardy. You know, I almost admire her. I can see why you like her. She's gutsy; a real spitfire. Why, she almost got herself shot earlier trying to protect your dear old dad. But if you do love her you sure have a funny way of showing it. Because one of these bullets has her name on it and you signed her death warrant."

Seeing that Sullivan's attention was solely on Frank, Fenton turned to his younger son and whispered, "Joe, check on Callie."

Joe slid his gun into his pocket and knelt beside his brother's former girlfriend. Her eyes were half-open but she remained still. He couldn't tell if she was too scared to move or if the wound on her head had left her too dazed to do anything but lie there. "Cal?"

His voice was almost inaudible but that one syllable caused an immediate reaction in Callie. Her eyes closed then opened fully. Moving only her eyes, she looked at him. She seemed surprised to see him. "Joe?" she breathed.

Joe couldn't help smiling. Forgotten for the moment was any anger he still felt toward her for hurting Frank. "Shhh, we aren't out of the woods yet. Can you move?"

"I guess my intelligence was completely wrong about you, Hardy. I was told you would do anything to protect the ones you love; that you were too practical and levelheaded to risk someone else's life." Sullivan's voice grew louder and harsher. "I guess you don't love her very much."

"SHUT UP!" Frank raised his gun again, leveling it at Sullivan's head.

Callie groaned softly and turned over on her side. A small metallic key lying just out of sight by the leg of the bed caught her eye; it was the key to the handcuff that kept Fenton bound to his chair. Sullivan must have dropped it when Fenton tripped him earlier. She reached out and closed her hand over it, the cool metal comforting in her grip. "Joe..."

"Callie, I'm going to help you to the door. Can you make it downstairs? Tony is there; you'll be safe."

"YOU AREN'T IN ANY POSITION TO CALL ANY OF THE SHOTS, HARDY." Sullivan's tone was loud and mocking. He liked the way Megan was trembling in his arms. He liked knowing he could instill such fear in a person.

Megan wasn't the only one who was shaking. Frank's right arm, extended with the gun pointing at Sullivan, was far from steady. He didn't dare look at her; if he did he'd lose the already tenuous control he had on his emotions. Instead he narrowed his eyes, seeing only Sullivan and the gun. The gun that was pointed at Megan's head. _No,_ Frank reminded himself. _Don't think about Megan. Stay calm and you can save her._ "Your position isn't too much better. Your buddies are tied up; the police are on their way. You have nowhere to go. Let Megan go and maybe you can get out of this alive. BUT IF YOU HURT HER, I'LL PERSONALLY SEE THAT YOU PAY WITH YOUR LIFE!"

"Joe, what about the others?" Callie whispered as she sat up. Her head was spinning and it throbbed with a dull pain. She didn't bother to stand. She wasn't about to make herself more of a target and she wasn't really sure she could even manage to walk if she wanted to.

"Frank will take care of Megan. As soon as I get you to safety, I'll pick the lock on Dad's cuffs and we'll help Frank."

Callie held out the key. "Will this help?"

"YOU ARE GOING TO KILL ME?" Sullivan shook his head, incredulous. "You wouldn't even know where to start. How many people have you killed in your life, Hardy? I bet the answer is none. Am I right?"

Joe hugged Callie briefly. "You are amazing. Come on, let's get you out of here."

The two teens slithered and squirmed toward the door, staying flat. They stopped about halfway when Sullivan exploded in anger. "I SAID, AM I RIGHT?"

"YES, OKAY? Yes, you're right. I've never had to kill anyone. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Frank screamed in response.

Callie looked from Frank to Joe. She'd never seen this side of her former boyfriend. Joe saw her concern and forced a smile. "He'll be fine. Come on."

Once they were outside the door, Joe helped Callie to her feet. Her world suddenly tilted and her stomach lurched. She would have fallen if Joe hadn't caught her. She leaned against him, taking strength in his reassuring hold. "I'm sorry, Joe. I'll be okay in just a moment. Go help Frank."

Joe glanced toward the room. He wanted to rush right back in. Despite his brave words to the contrary, he wasn't so sure that Frank or Megan would be okay. But he couldn't abandon Callie. No matter what she'd done in the past, right now she was hurt. He had to help her downstairs. "Lean on me. I'll help you down the stairs at least. I don't want you to fall and hurt yourself worse. But let's make it fast, okay?"

Callie smiled just a little. She had a pretty good idea how Joe felt about her and she also hadn't been fooled by his bravado. She knew what a sacrifice this was for him and she appreciated it. "Thanks Joe. But no, I'm good. I'll sit down and scoot, and as soon as I'm down, I'll find Tony. Go help Frank, before that maniac shoots everyone!"

Meanwhile, Fenton watched his son and his captor with growing dread. Sullivan was toying with Frank, managing to hit all the buttons that would infuriate the teenage boy. Fenton wanted to caution Frank not to listen to anything Sullivan said, but he remained silent. Both Frank and Sullivan were wound tight, braced for the next move; if Fenton said anything at all, he might start off a chain reaction that would end in disaster.

"That's the difference between you and me, Hardy. I have no problems with killing anyone or anything. I bet you've never met a single one of those world leaders, but you couldn't stand by and see them die even at the risk of the person you claim to love."

"I gave you the plans," Frank insisted bitterly.

"They're doing me a lot of good right now aren't they? No, those world leaders will have their little pow-wow and rest easy, never knowing the danger they were almost in. Too bad Meggie here will die in their places. Tell me, Hardy, are their lives worth her losing hers?"

"I GAVE YOU THE PLANS!" Frank repeated desperately, his voice rising an octave higher.

"TELL NO ONE! Wasn't that what you heard? WASN'T IT?" Sullivan glanced down at Megan. "I promise you he was warned what would happen if he told anyone. I guess you weren't that important to him because it didn't take Daddio long to show his face around here. And someone had to have followed Sid and Rocco back here after they had the damn plans. That shows such devotion, don't you think?"

"I didn't tell anyone. Joe found out on his own and followed me," Frank pleaded.

"Maybe I should have kidnapped his girlfriend instead. It sounds like he's the better detective."

"I did what you said. I promise you."

"Quit whining. It doesn't become you. Do you really want Megan's final memory to be of you playing crybaby?"

"You kill her, there's no way you are getting out of this alive."

"Maybe." Sullivan grinned. "But she'll still be dead. At least I'll die knowing you'll spend the rest of your life knowing you were responsible for your girlfriend's death. Can you live with that? I don't think you can. I think it will eat you up inside and make you wish you'd died in her place. I can die a happy man knowing that."

"Let me trade places with her, then," Frank urged. "Let her go and take me instead."

"Frank! No!" Megan's teary voice distracted him for just a second. He willed himself not to look at her. He could only hope she knew that he would do _anything_ to protect her.

Fenton practically jumped out of his skin when hands suddenly fumbled at the cuff binding him to the chair. He looked down, relieved to see Joe kneeling beside the chair. "Where's Callie?"

"Downstairs." Joe's voice was as low as his father's. "What's Frank doing?"

"Trying to deal with the devil I'm afraid. Buying precious time. Hurry up and pick the lock. I don't think we have much to spare."

Within seconds, Joe had the cuff unlocked. Fenton was surprised; both boys were good at picking locks but he had no idea they were that good. With a slight grin, Joe held up the key. "What do we do now, Dad?"

"I'm not sure….Give me that gun you carried in."

Meanwhile the heated conversation between Dan Sullivan and Frank Hardy continued.

"Why should I let you take her place?" Sullivan asked suspiciously.

"If you take me we can walk out of here right now before the police arrive. I can be your insurance that Dad won't change the plans. We can both get what we want then. Megan will be safe and you can carry out your plan."

"Well, like I said earlier, I do admire Megan. Put your gun down, Hardy and kick it over this way."

Frank hesitated. Could it really be that easy? All he had to do was put down his gun and Megan would be safe? He wavered. "Let Megan go first."

"And give you an easy target? No way. Come on, Hardy, it's not that hard a decision. Put the gun down and she goes free. Don't and I give her a third ear hole. It's up to you – but don't wait too long."

"Frank, don't do it," Fenton warned. Joe paused in handing over the gun. There was no way he'd let Frank become a ready-made hostage.

"Okay." Squatting down, Frank set the gun on the floor and set it spinning toward Sullivan. "There, now let her go."

"Step over here first."

His heart pounding in his head, Frank did as he was told. Soon, there was a pathway to the door. Sullivan smiled and dropped his hand from around Megan's waist. For a moment the girl didn't move. Sullivan frowned. "Go on, Megan. Get out of here. He's just bought your freedom. Go before I change my mind."

She just stared at Frank. She didn't want him to trade himself for her safety. Especially not because Sullivan had made him feel guilty for everything that had happened. "Frank…"

Frank hung his head. "Go on, Baby. It'll be okay. I love you."

Sullivan gave her a little push toward the door. "Unless you just like being held at gunpoint, get out of here."

She wanted to run to Frank, wanting to be held by him as much as he wanted to hold her. Wiping away her tears, she took a couple of unsteady steps toward the door. Then she turned to look at Frank. "I love you too."

Sullivan shook his head. "It's a good thing I'm not diabetic because this is too sweet for words. But that's okay because I have a confession to make. I lied."

Frank's eyes widened in alarm as Sullivan leveled the gun at Megan's retreating figure. "NO!"

He lunged toward Sullivan, hitting him just as the madman pulled the trigger. No sooner had the shot been fired than Frank locked his hands around Sullivan's wrist and jerked it in the air. Instantly, the two men were locked in a deadly struggle for control of the gun.

For a moment, Megan was stunned. The sound of the gunshot rang in her ears long after the actual sound waves had dissipated past the point of being heard. She was sure she'd been hit until a single rational thought penetrated her confusion; she was in no pain. She'd never been shot before but she was sure it would have to be painful. If she hadn't been shot, however, why was she lying on the floor? It was only then that she noticed someone lying next to her. She gasped.

Fenton had seen what Sullivan was about to do and jumped up just as the gun went off. With lightning-quick reflexes that belied his time cuffed to the chair, he shoved Megan to the floor just as a fiery pain exploded in his shoulder. He landed on the floor with a thud, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

Joe leveled his gun at Sullivan but didn't dare take a shot. Frank was too close. There was no way he could fire and be sure he wouldn't hit his brother. He was completely helpless to do anything, a feeling that he hated. It would probably haunt him forever if anything happened to his brother because he was powerless to help.

"Joe! Your dad…"

Joe looked down at Megan's plaintive call. He dropped the gun as he realized his father was injured. He gently pushed Megan aside and knelt beside his father. Blood streamed through the eldest Hardy's fingers as he clutched his wounded shoulder, and Fenton's face was contorted in pain.

"Easy, Dad, let me look." Joe gently eased Fenton's hand away and tore his father's shirt at the shoulder to get a better look at the wound. Instinctively he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief. Only when he came up empty did he remember that they had used his handkerchief as a gag when they tied up the three goons in the van. He looked around. Hastily he shrugged out of his jacket and wadded it up. "Megan, shove this against his shoulder to slow down the bleeding."

The teenage girl quickly did as requested and with shaky hands held down the makeshift bandage. She glanced back to where Frank was still struggling with Sullivan for the gun. The two men were locked in a deadly dance, with the gun currently between their chests. Megan's heart skipped a beat; it was hard to believe she was more frightened now than she'd been since she'd been grabbed out of the Hardys' van.

"Joe," Fenton's voice was steady despite the pain he was in. "Don't worry about me. Help your brother."

Joe nodded but disregarded the gun lying next to him. He knew he wouldn't be able to get a clean shot as long as Frank was battling for Sullivan's gun. His only hope was if he jumped Sullivan from the other side, two against one would win out.

But before he could do anything, another shot rang out, echoing in the room. For an instant nobody moved and there was no further sound. And then both Frank and Sullivan collapsed in a heap on the floor; Frank's body buried beneath Sullivan's.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.

Thank you again to Cheryl and Max and Caranath, who have been so kind with their reviews. Only one more chapter to suffer through, guys!

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 17

For a moment, dead silence filled the room as neither figure moved. Then, with agonizing slowness, Frank pushed himself to his knees, the front of his shirt crimson with fresh blood. Megan lurched to her feet and screamed, the sound coming from the deepest reaches of her soul, where she had never known sound could exist.

"Noooooo!"

Then realization hit: it was Dan Sullivan who was still lying motionless on the floor. As the occupants of the room watched, Frank staggered to his feet, took two steps, and without a word crushed Megan to his chest, desperate in his desire to never let her go, ever again.

"Frank...oh, Frank...are you hurt—?" She was sobbing against his shoulder, her hands reaching for the bloodied spot on his shirt.

"Shhhh, it's okay, I'm okay; I'm here, I'm not hurt...oh God, Megan..." Frank buried his face in her red-gold curls and rocked her, gathered her closer still. She clung to him, taking comfort in the sanctuary of his embrace.

A commotion at the door made the others look in that direction; Frank and Megan took no notice. Con Riley burst into the room, gun drawn, with Callie and Tony at his heels.

"About time you got here," Joe drawled sardonically.

"Joe!" Fenton reprimanded him. "Stop it!" He attempted to rise, but Joe firmly held him in place.

"No way, Dad! Con, I think we need an ambulance."

Riley stepped over to the body lying on the floor and checked for breathing and a pulse. After a moment, he dragged a blanket from the bed and spread it over Sullivan's body. Then he pulled out a tiny phone and punched a single button. "Con Riley here - I need an ambulance - and the medical examiner...Right, that's the address. Thanks."

He flipped his phone closed and looked around at the others: Fenton lying on the floor, with Joe holding a bloody cloth against his shoulder; Callie and Tony hovering in the doorway, both appearing to have gotten the worst of it in recent fights; Frank and Megan clasped tightly in each others' arms, eyes closed; shutting out the rest of the world.

"Anyone want to explain this?" Riley demanded rhetorically. He squatted on his heels next to Fenton. "Go on, scram," he muttered to Joe. "I'll take over here." He pressed his hand down on Fenton's shoulder, applying pressure to the wound. Joe cast a dubious glance at his father, but Mr. Hardy managed a gritted-teeth smile at him and nodded.

"It's okay, Joe," he said softly. "I'll start filling Con in on some of the details."

Joe got to his feet and walked over to the door. "Everything okay?" he asked Tony.

"Plenty of cops downstairs taking care of our three friends." Tony grinned a little, then winced as the movement made his jaw hurt. "Think I'll go watch 'em being taken in; it'll be the most fun I've had today since I tied 'em up and told 'em about my Uncle Guido! And I'll call Biff and the others and tell them what happened." He winked and departed, leaving Joe standing there with Callie.

"Joe...?" Callie said softly, "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Joe looked down at her. Now that the danger was over, his anger towards Callie was resurfacing as he remembered her treatment of Frank. "Okay," he said. His voice was cold, but as he took in the girl's pallor, bruised cheek and cut forehead, and shaky appearance, his tone softened. "Come on, sit down." He took her arm and guided her to a seat on the bed.

"I wanted to thank you—" Callie began, "to thank you for what you did a few minutes ago, getting me out of the line of fire. And to thank you for searching for me, too - but especially for helping me get away from Sullivan just now. I - I didn't expect you to do it. I thought you would have just left me there to die."

Joe's mouth fell open in shock. "Left you to die? Oh come on, Callie!"

"I know you hate me," she whispered, staring down at the floor.

Joe sat down beside her on the bed. "Hey, listen to me a minute," he said quietly. "I was plenty mad at you for what happened last fall, I'll admit that. And I doubt that I'll ever be extremely fond of you...but you were an important part of Frank's life too long for me to let something happen to you out of spite."

Callie raised her head, and a long look passed between them. "Thank you," she said again.

"But I warn you, Callie—" and although Joe's tone was light, his blue eyes were very sober. "If you ever hurt him like that again, I'll kill you myself."

She blinked, sensing the veracity of his words, and then smiled a little. "I won't, Joe, I promise." She glanced across the room, where Frank still stood holding Megan against him. "I think he's forgotten me anyway..."

Joe followed her glance. "He loves her," he admitted, very low. "I've never seen him love anyone the way he loves her."

"She's a very lucky girl," Callie answered softly. "And I ought to know!"

At that moment, movement and voices filled the room as the paramedics arrived. Fenton was taken away first, assuring the EMTs that he was fine, it was nothing but a scratch; and calling back to Joe to notify Laura that he'd been taken to the hospital.

Next they focused in on Joe. After a brief examination of the bump on his head, one of the medics recommended that he come to the hospital also, just to have it checked out by a physician. Joe, who was attempting to call his mother while having his head looked at, agreed to come by a bit later; he wanted to be there to make sure his father was all right, anyway.

When it came to Callie and Megan, the EMTs ran into a problem or two. Callie didn't argue about going to the hospital, but protested that she didn't want to arrive in an ambulance. "I'm not hurt, I'm just tired and a little bruised; that's all! Save the ambulance for someone who's really injured!" At that point Tony intervened, and offered to drive her there; she gratefully accepted his offer and the two departed.

The woman medic had to practically pry Megan from Frank's arms, and when she did, she gasped in horror at the sight of Frank's shirt. "Where's all this blood coming from? Were you shot too? Why didn't somebody tell me?"

"It's okay; it's not my blood," Frank assured her. "It's…his." He jerked his head toward the blanket-covered figure on the floor. "I'm not hurt at all."

"And what about you, hon?" the EMT asked Megan. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Megan denied, but her lips quivered, and suddenly she began to tremble. Frank wrapped his arm about her again.

"I think she's in shock," he said to the medic. "You'd better take her to the hospital, I guess." Despite his words, he held Megan tightly, reluctant to let her out of his sight.

"Frank, I don't want to go," she protested.

"I know," he soothed her. "It'll be okay; I'll be right there. I'll bring Joe, and then I'll be there for you." Finally, Megan allowed herself to be led away, and Frank, Joe and Con Riley were left alone in the room which had served as a prison cell for the past several days.

"You two go on to the hospital," Con told them gruffly. "I've got to stay here until the medical examiner arrives...and I need to contact Callie Shaw's parents." He gave the two boys a long look. "The story had better be a good one."

Joe smiled a little. "You asked us to find Callie, Con. We did. Leave it at that, for now."


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2000, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit for the plot, and unending thanks.

Thank you to all who have left reviews and comments. I appreciate every one.

 **January Thaw**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH

Chapter 18

Early January in the northeastern United States. The temperatures were moderating, but it still was cold outside. Inside the large gray stone house on Elm Street, it was warm and quiet, but the sun was not streaming in through the windows today. Frank Hardy stood in the family room, staring out the window at the snow floating past the panes.

 _I killed him...oh, they didn't call it that, of course... It just happened, one of those things that happens when two people are struggling over possession of a gun. If anything, it was self-defense...but I killed him._

 _I wanted to make him suffer...I wanted to kill him...I wanted him dead, for what he'd done – done to Megan, done to Callie, done to Dad, done to_ _me_ _. I wanted him dead – and now he is._

##########

For the past two days, Frank had been wracked by guilt over the death of Dan Sullivan. At first, he had been too relieved that Megan, his father, and Callie Shaw were alive and relatively unharmed to think much about Dan Sullivan...but that hadn't lasted.

Joe, Megan and Callie had been admitted to the hospital for overnight observation; Fenton had been told he might be released in two days' time. Frank returned home alone, for Laura decided to spend the rest of the day and the evening keeping her husband company.

Frank was exhausted, both physically and emotionally; his ribs ached from the battle with Sid and his struggle with Dan Sullivan. He could hardly believe that only a few hours had passed since he and Joe and their friends had left the house that morning, setting out in a desperate attempt to find Fenton, Callie and Megan. He went up to his room, stripped off his bloodstained shirt and threw it into the wastebasket; he never wanted to see it again, let alone wear it. Shuddering, he found an old sweatshirt and pulled it on, then went back downstairs.

 _So tired...may as well grab a nap_ he decided, after taking a couple of aspirins to dull the ache in his midsection, and he stretched out on the family room couch and closed his eyes. In less than ten minutes he was sound asleep.

 _"It's your fault, Hardy - you didn't obey orders, and here's your punishment...I warned you."_

" Noooo...no, don't! Don't shoot her! Megan!" Frank awoke, gasping for breath, his heart pounding. He stared wildly around the quiet room for a few seconds, then realized where he was and settled back against the pillow. His mind spun, reliving the last few seconds of the dream where he watched Dan Sullivan take aim and fire his gun at Megan's unprotected back...and this time, Fenton Hardy hadn't acted in time to save her.

 _It was just a dream...Megan's all right, remember? She's okay, Dad's okay..._ Frank closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing evenly. The relaxation exercise worked better than he anticipated, and he slid into sleep once more.

 _"You're not going to hurt them! I'll make you suffer if you harm Megan..."_

 _Oh yeah? You wouldn't know where to start, kid. How many men have you killed?"_

 _"I won't let you hurt her – I'll kill you first! I'll kill you - agghhh!"_ Once more Frank jerked to wakefulness, and looked frantically at his own chest, expecting to see gushing blood. The dream had been so real – so real...only Sullivan's gun had not killed Megan, it had gone off while Frank struggled with him; in his dream, Frank had _felt_ the impact of a bullet.

 _Oh man, this is bad..._ Frank sat up and reached for the remote control of the television. _Better game shows or soap operas than nightmares!_

When Laura arrived home from the hospital several hours later, she found Frank slumped in front of the TV, watching a basketball game. When she offered him supper, Frank professed not to be hungry, and soon afterward went upstairs to his room.

All night Frank lay half-dozing on his bed, not daring to fall asleep for fear of the nightmares returning. But being awake was no better; in his mind he kept going over the day's events, seeing again Sullivan pointing his gun at Megan; feeling the struggle with the man for possession of the gun; hearing the deafening report of the shot. _It's my fault he's dead...there must have been_ _something_ _else I could have done...I wanted him dead...I'm some kind of monster for wanting him to die...for being so glad that he's dead..._

When morning came Frank got up and went down to the kitchen, where he found a note from his mother. _Frank - I've gone to pick up Joe from the hospital. Back soon. Love, Mom._ Finding coffee already made, Frank poured himself a cup, and sat down at the kitchen table, hoping the stimulant would make him feel a little more human.

He was still sitting there when Mrs. Hardy and Joe walked into the kitchen. The bruise on Joe's temple had darkened to a striking purple shade, but other than that, he looked fine. He grinned cheerfully at his brother as he came through the door.

"Hey, bro! Glad to have me back?"

Frank roused himself with an effort, and forced a smile. "Of course. How are you feeling?"

"Great! The doctor said I'm as good as new – or I will be when the bruise goes away."

"And until then, you look sort of exotic – like a pirate or something," Laura teased as she left the room.

Joe sat down opposite Frank. "Dad's doing fine – and both Megan and Callie were checking out about the same time I did – Megan's mom got back last night, I guess."

"That's good." Frank forced the words past a lump in his throat. _She's already left the hospital? I can't even go see her there? I've got to see her – make_ _sure_ _she's okay..._

Joe was regarding him narrowly. "Are you okay? You look sort of funny."

"I look funny? – I'm fine...It's you that looks funny," Frank said evasively.

Joe stretched out a hand and turned Frank's face into the band of sunlight coming through the window. "Uh-uh, I know better. You're still not sleeping, are you?" He scowled darkly. "I thought you'd be okay now that it's over and everything's okay."

"I'm fine," Frank repeated; he pulled away from Joe's fingers and got to his feet. "Just leave me alone, Joe, can't you?" He walked out of the room, leaving Joe staring blankly after him.

That was how the day had gone. Neither Joe nor Laura had been able to break through Frank's moody depression. Frank tried to talk to Megan on the telephone, but each time he called, her mother had informed him that Megan was resting and couldn't be disturbed; no, Frank couldn't come over, and no, Megan _wasn't_ leaving the house to come see him.

The boys had gone to the police station to fill out seemingly-endless reports and tell Con all the numerous details of the kidnappings, threats and assaults. Frank had recited facts and dates and been exceedingly polite to Con – but he remained withdrawn and silent otherwise, and only made the briefest responses to Joe's comments on the way home. Joe finally gave up attempting to get him to talk, but Frank was aware of his brother's blue eyes, watchful and considering, fastened on him at every opportunity.

The next morning, Joe was up early and on the telephone nearly as soon as he was out of bed.

"Hi, this is Joe Hardy; may I please speak to – Megan! I thought you were your mom – thank goodness; I need to talk to you!" Joe heaved a deep sigh. "Are you feeling okay now?...that's good...No, he's not, and that's why I called. Something's up with him; he won't talk to me or Mom, he's barely eating, and last night I heard him yelling in his sleep – more than once...Yeah, I know...Listen, is there any way you could come over and see him? I'm really starting to get worried...you can? Great!...No, I won't tell him...thanks – bye."

##########

Frank stared out the window at the yard, all outlines blurred by the whirling flakes drifting down. _Megan will never forgive me...if it wasn't for me, she'd never have been put in danger..._

"Frank?"

Frank whirled as the soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Megan!"

Four strides and he'd caught her in his arms. "Oh baby, I've wanted to see you so much, but your mom wouldn't let me come over; she said you had to rest – I was scared there was something wrong; she said you couldn't leave your house—" He rocked back and forth, smoothing her golden-red curls. "I needed to see you—"

"Shhhh," Megan placed her fingers over Frank's lips, halting the torrent of words. "Everything's all right...I was tired, that's all. And Mom got a little over-protective, but everything is fine now." She removed her hand. "Aren't you even going to kiss me?"

Frank bent his head to comply, but as he did so, the thought came unbidden: _it was your fault she almost died - she'll never forgive you; she_ _can't_ _feel the same way about you anymore!_ He stopped, just before his lips touched hers.

"Megan, I – you—"

"What's wrong, Frank?"

Frank gently disengaged himself and walked over to perch on the arm of the sofa. "I think we need to talk," he whispered miserably.

"All right." Megan followed him across the room and stood in front of him. "What is it that we need to talk about?" she asked quietly.

"I've been thinking – the past two days...All this was because of me - everything that happened to you; the kidnapping, the fright you had to endure - My God, Megan, you were nearly shot, more than once – all because you were associated with me!" He gulped, and continued. "And – and now – I'm not the same person anymore...I'm a killer. I killed Dan Sullivan. I wanted him dead, Megan, do you hear me? I wanted to kill him, for what he'd done to make you suffer - you and Dad and Callie...I keep asking myself, was there something else I could have done; there must have been some other way...and then I realize I'm glad he's dead." Frank shuddered and stared into Megan's beautiful blue-green eyes beseechingly. "How can you ever feel the same way about me, now that you know what a monster I am? You must hate me."

"Oh, Frank..." Very gently, Megan put out her arms and drew his head against her shoulder. "Hate you? You crazy idiot, how could I possibly hate you? You saved my life – how many times is it that you've done that, now? – you rescued me from a homicidal maniac – you risked your life to find me – and I think now you're risking your sanity, too!" She stroked his dark wavy hair softly; laid her cheek against the top of his head. "You're not a monster, Frank Hardy – or if you are, then I am too. I'm not sorry Dan Sullivan is dead. He deserved what he got. The only thing I regret is the pain it's causing you."

"But I—" Frank's voice was muffled against her shoulder, and she felt him trembling.

"I love you, Frank. If being with you means I risk getting kidnapped occasionally—" Megan's voice held a ripple of amusement now, and her dimple was apparent in her cheek. "or shot at, or tied up and threatened – well, those are the breaks, I guess. I'll take the bad with the good – because there's so much more good, Frank!"

She put a hand beneath his chin and raised his head until his eyes met hers; to her consternation, she saw tears in those dark eyes. Now the dimple was gone; her expression was one of great tenderness. "It's worth it to me...because I love you."

"I love you – so much." Frank got to his feet, wrapped his arms about her, and hugged her tightly. He hastily swiped a hand across his eyes and cleared his throat. "Let's go see if Joe's called everyone – Mom wants to have a "welcome-home and we're-glad-everyone-is-safe" party this afternoon, and he was supposed to be contacting people."

##########

Around one o'clock, Joe arrived home with his father, newly released from the hospital. While his family members fussed about him, bringing pillows, blankets, cups of hot tea and glasses of water, Fenton calmly settled himself in one of the recliner chairs in the family room and waved them all off. Aside from the fact that one arm rested in a sling, one would never have realized that a bullet had gone through his shoulder two days previously.

"Go on, now...I'm fine, Laura, I'm fine... Yes, I'm comfortable. Thanks, Joe; I can reach it..." Patiently, Fenton shooed them back. "Go on honey, go get ready for the party."

"I'll help you, Mrs. Hardy," Megan volunteered, and followed Laura towards the kitchen.

Joe caught a glance from his father and mumbled something about having to sweep off the sidewalk before anyone arrived. "...all this new snow – what a pain!" he muttered as he departed.

"Frank?" Fenton called his elder son back just as Frank was exiting the room. "Just a minute, son."

Frank walked across the room and stood in front of Fenton, eyes downcast. "Yes, Dad?"

"Sit down; I'm not going to scold you!" Fenton said gently. "But your brother told me something on the way home...he said you've been very upset the past two days; and he doesn't know why. Want to talk about anything?"

Frank sank to a sitting position on the floor near his father's feet. "Dad - I want to – but it's so hard..."

"No rush, Frank, take your time." Mr. Hardy gazed at his son's bowed head. "It's about what happened at the house, isn't it?"

Now the words came in a torrent. "Dad – Dan Sullivan – I killed him, Dad! Because I was struggling with him for the gun, he's dead now – and it's my fault! There must have been something else I could have done; something that would have stopped him...I keep thinking about it; seeing it over and over in my mind...and I don't even know for sure which one of us pulled the trigger, but it probably was me..."

Fenton sighed. "You don't know that, and it's a 50-50 chance it wasn't you. I've been in your shoes, Frank - both as a police officer and in my current line of work. It isn't easy – it doesn't get easier, either. Taking someone else's life isn't something you do without batting an eye...not if you have a conscience, that is. Dan Sullivan, on the other hand, was ready to kill you, Megan, me – any of us – without a qualm. He would have done it with no regrets."

"That's another thing." Frank's voice was choked. "I – Dad, this is horrible! I – I'm glad he's dead! I wanted him to die – because of what he'd done to us. I told him I would make him suffer if he hurt Megan. I didn't know when he fired the shot that you had gotten hit – I just wanted him to pay for hurting Megan. Dad, have I turned into some kind of monster?"

"Frank, he was doing everything in his power to push you over the edge. He wanted you angry enough to lose control, so that he would have the excuse to shoot you." Fenton paused, shifted a little in the chair to make himself more comfortable. "But you didn't lose control, son...you put your gun down first, and surrendered because you didn't want Megan – or anyone else – to get hurt. If you were a monster – the kind of monster Dan Sullivan was – you would have shot him, rather than surrendering the gun; it wouldn't have mattered to you who else got hurt as long as you killed him."

Mr. Hardy reached his hand out and laid it on Frank's hair. "And one more thing, Frank. This isn't going to go away immediately...it's going to remain on your mind for a long time. You know when a police officer shoots someone in the line of duty, he or she is usually put on leave for a while, don't you?" Frank nodded, without looking up. "Well, now you know why. It isn't just while the shoot's investigated. The officer needs time to come to terms with what happened, and that usually involves seeing a psychiatrist for counseling. The guilt factor is almost always there; no matter how justified the shooting was. It takes time to get over it. If you want to see someone – talk to someone professionally about it – you can have that option. But you will get over it, son, in time."

Frank raised his head and stared into his father's eyes. "You really believe that?"

"I most certainly do," his father assured him. "Joe will probably not understand - it's something that has to be experienced...don't let him bug you about it!" Fenton added with a twinkle in his dark eyes. Frank managed to smile a little in response. "And remember this, son – and this is important: everything did turn out all right. You saved Megan and Callie and me from an almost certain death - you saved several world leaders from death – and you captured three small-time crooks in the bargain."

"Thanks, Dad." Frank rose to his feet, leaned over and very carefully hugged his father. "I guess I should go help Joe shovel the walks." He headed toward the door, encountering Megan just entering the room. "Hey, beautiful!" He kissed the tip of her nose as he exited.

Megan smiled shyly at Fenton. "Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Hardy?" she asked.

"No thanks, Megan, I'm fine," he replied. Seeing her hesitation, he beckoned her further into the room. "Come on in, I won't bite, you know."

"I know..." Megan walked over to stand beside his chair. "I wanted to talk to you - if it wouldn't be a bother, that is..."

"No bother at all."

"Mr. Hardy – I – I just wanted to thank you for saving my life. For coming to find us in the first place, and then for pushing me out of the way—"

Fenton laughed a little. "If I remember correctly, you saved mine first, Megan! We're about even in that department."

"It wasn't quite the same," she murmured, flushing pink. "And something else, too...I know Frank did something really bad when he stole the security plans from you and gave them to that horrible man. Is he going to be in trouble for that? I tried to tell him not to do it..." Her voice trailed off wistfully.

"No, Megan; he's not in trouble for it." Fenton's deep voice was very gentle when he spoke. "I saw that night – when I found out what he'd done – just how much you mean to him. And I saw two days ago how much he loves you, and what he will risk for you."

Megan looked up, meeting Fenton's eyes for the first time. He smiled, and she saw again how much he and Frank looked alike. "You were so nice to us, when we were all being held prisoner," she murmured. "Frank is a lot like you – courageous and good-hearted and compassionate. I see now where he gets it from." She blushed even more hotly at this daring speech, and dropped her gaze to the floor again.

"Megan—" Fenton reached for her hand; clasped it gently. "You are very important to Frank. I understand now why he loves you. Let me tell you something, my dear little girl...Frank has a lot to work through right now – but if anyone can help him deal with this, it will be you." He paused a moment, then continued. "I'm very happy that he has you."

With a gesture so much like Frank's it brought tears to Megan's eyes, Fenton tugged on her hand until he could put his uninjured arm about her and hold her close in a tender hug. She put her arms around him, being careful not to touch his shoulder, and relaxed in his embrace for a long moment. For an instant it was like having her own father there again.

"Uh – excuse me—" Frank's voice came from the doorway, sounding somewhat surprised. "What's going on?"

Megan lifted her head, stood straight; exchanged smiles with Fenton. Neither one answered Frank's question.

##########

Two-thirty in the afternoon, and what Joe had termed "Mom's Welcome-home Bash" was in full swing. All the boys' friends and their parents were there; Tony Prito still sporting a dark bruise on his chin. Megan's mother Carolyn had arrived, and was sharing a laughing conversation with Andrea Bender. Callie Shaw and her parents were there. Laura bustled in and out of the kitchen, making sure everyone was well supplied with things to eat and drink. Fenton held court from his recliner, talking with whomever happened to be within conversational reach.

When the doorbell rang yet again, Joe raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Who's not already here?" he muttered to Biff, who doubled over in laughter. Joe's question was answered when Con Riley entered the family room behind Laura, and walked over to greet Fenton warmly. They spoke quietly for a few moments, then Con turned and raised his voice slightly, so as to be heard over the other conversations.

"I have some information that might interest several of you – things that we learned from the three hoods that Joe, Frank and Tony encountered the other day. Once they were in custody, and Dan Sullivan was dead, they were quite willing to talk about him."

Immediately all voices were hushed, and everyone turned expectantly toward the police detective. Con gazed about the room a moment, then continued speaking. "It seems that Dan Sullivan had a brother who was involved in the situation that took place a while back, down in Waco, Texas. This brother was killed at that time – and apparently something snapped in Dan Sullivan's mind. He had, before that, a record of small, insurrectionist-type activities. After Waco, his anti-government sentiments apparently grew enormously. He wanted to discredit the U.S. government any way he could – and he decided that this conference coming up was the place to strike."

Con glanced around the room. "He intended to kill the president of the United States, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and the Chancellor of Germany. Possibly others too, but those three were definite targets. Exactly what else he had in mind, we're not sure. His henchmen didn't know either."

Mr. Hardy cleared his throat. "In passing, I might add that the location of the conference has been changed. It will be held at a second-choice site – and the security arrangements are being handled by the CIA and the FBI – for which I am offering prayers of thankfulness!" he added, to laughter from the rest of the room.

Con grinned, gave a half-salute, half-wave, and turned to speak to Mr. Shaw.

Conversations were resumed; voices rose in laughter and talk once more.

For some reason Frank had felt acutely uncomfortable during Con's recitation. He slipped away now, toward the kitchen; noting that Megan was talking with Joe and Vanessa. _She's okay; she's safe – everything's all right._

"Frank?" A soft, familiar voice – but it wasn't Megan's voice.

"Callie?" Frank turned, surprised. He gazed at his former girlfriend, noting the bruise still in evidence on her cheek, and the butterfly bandage on her temple.

"Do you have just a minute?" The blonde girl's cheeks flushed, then suddenly went pale again.

"Sure; what is it?" Frank pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "Here, sit down."

"I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me, rescuing me from Dan Sullivan," Callie said, seating herself. Frank leaned against the table, arms folded across his chest. "And to say again that – that I—" She broke off, swallowing hard.

"Kind of hard, isn't it?" Frank said quietly.

"Frank, I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry for the breakup-by-email thing. I was wrong to do it that way; I know that now. Please, can't we part as friends?"

His eyes softened. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Callie. And it's okay; really it is. After all, if you hadn't done what you did, I might not have gotten together with Megan." He smiled. "And that would have been a real catastrophe."

"I'm leaving for Colorado tomorrow," Callie said. "And Jonathan will be waiting for me. I really like him a lot, Frank – and I think he feels the same way about me."

"So this is goodbye." Frank leaned down and kissed her cheek gently. "Best wishes, Callie, and good luck. And tell Jonathan for me that he's a lucky guy to have you for a girlfriend. And—" his dark eyes twinkled. "also tell him that he'd better treat you right...because you have a friend back home who'll hunt him down and make him regret it, if he ever hurts you."

She blinked back tears. "Frank Hardy, there's nobody in the world quite like you."

"Come on, let's join the others." Frank held out his hand to assist Callie to her feet. "You need to tell people goodbye, if you're leaving tomorrow."

As they re-entered the family room, Megan came to Frank's side, and he slipped an arm about her, hugging her tightly against him. Vanessa smiled at Callie, and made room for her in the circle of laughing friends.

Over the noise of conversation, the telephone shrilled. Joe picked up the cordless, and walked into the hallway where he could hear who was on the other end. When he returned, he was grinning broadly, and he signaled a thumbs-up towards Frank.

"Who was it, Joe?" Fenton asked, loudly enough that conversation stilled once again, and everyone listened for Joe's reply.

"It was Allen Thomas," Joe stated. "Denise has decided to let him see Rachel every weekend until her marriage, and she's reconsidering the move to Chicago. He thinks it may be Philadelphia, instead."

Chet, Biff and Phil all broke into applause, Frank and Joe high-fived; Vanessa yelped "Yes!" and hugged Tony.

Everyone blinked at them in bewilderment.

"What in the world are you talking about?" Mr. Hardy demanded, with a laugh.

"It's a long story, Dad," Joe chuckled, "and it definitely has a happy ending!"

THE END


End file.
